


Azure

by NotSoLittleLight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Band life, Bottom!Cas, Journalist!Cas, M/M, Mentions of Alcohol Abuse, Punk!Dean, Tattooed!Cas, mentions of depression, punk!Cas, rockstar!dean, tattooed!dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-13 07:43:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14744750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSoLittleLight/pseuds/NotSoLittleLight
Summary: As a music reviewer and blogger, Cas has a strict "No Dating Musicians" rule. When he meets Dean Winchester, his rule and almost everything else, changes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! Just a note to let ya'll know that this story is almost completely finished. It's around 60k and about 90% written. However, it was originally going to be my second published novel, but I just had this feeling that this story would be better casted in the SPN verse so I'm reworking it, a couple of chapters at a time. If there's enough interest, I will continue reworking and post the chapters as they're done. So please, PLEASE let me know if you'd like to read more of this or if you catch any grammar mistakes (find/replace does does weird stuff in Word, lemme tell ya) Unbeta'd, obvi. But I tried. Thanks, guys!

The air smelled like sweat and beer, the smoke from the stage lingering over the heads of the crowd as the pulse of the drums thrummed through his skin. Castiel Shurley made his way to the side of the stage, pulling his best friend with him as he maneuvered through the crowd.

“What’re we doing?” Charlie shouted, wiping her sweaty red hair from her face as they emerged in a small clear patch to the right of the main crowd.

“Static Sleep is next,” Cas explained, looking around for a good vantage point to see the stage clearly for the next act. He spotted a nice clearing by the VIP section, a safe distance away from the area he knew would soon house a very volatile circle pit.

He set off toward the spot, knowing that Charlie would follow close behind. After ten years of concerts together, they knew better than to get separated, especially at a large outdoor venue.

Rock for Cancer, the annual benefit hosted in San Diego, was one of the more popular events of the year for rock fans on the west coast. Bands from across the globe got together to play sets over the course of three days to raise money for cancer research and related charities. Cas’s website had donated ad space and merchandise for the event for the last three years and he was always in attendance.

But this year, he was even more excited. Mainly because he’d been hired by Metal Monthly magazine to interview Dean Winchester, lead guitarist for Static Sleep, while they were in town for the benefit.

“Are you excited?” Charlie asked, her voice loud in the sudden silence. The band that had been playing was preparing to exit the stage, techs already working frantically to set up for Static Sleep.

Cas quirked a brow at his best friend. “It’s just an interview,” he said coolly, knowing full well that Charlie knew more than anyone how important it was to him, but still not willing to admit his nervous excitement. He’d always managed to stay focused and calm when meeting famous musicians, but Dean Winchester was one of his personal favorites and had been since he was in high school.

“Right.” Charlie took a swallow of her beer. “Just an interview. With probably the greatest guitarist of our generation. Who just happens to be brilliant _and_ stupid fucking hot -”

“I don’t date musicians,” Cas said firmly, frowning at the skeptical look on Charlie’s face.

“Yes, yes. I know. Mister Professional Integrity, I know. But you’re going to be meeting Dean fucking Winchester tomorrow. You’re allowed to be excited.”

“I’ve met hundreds of musicians,” Cas retorted and almost laughed as Charlie dramatically rolled her eyes.

“You’re such a pain – Oh, look! There’s Sam.” Charlie pointed at the stage excitedly, beer from her cup sloshing over the side and spilling onto her hand. “I swear, if I wasn’t gay…” Cas laughed as Charlie floundered before turning his attention to the stage.

Sam Winchester, singer and rhythm guitarist for Static Sleep was standing on the left side of the stage, talking with a guy Cas recognized as one of the stage techs for the main stage. He fiddled with the monitor in his right ear as he chatted, straightening slightly when Benny LaFitte, the band’s bass player, smacked his ass as he passed him. Sam hollered something over his shoulder and Benny laughed as he turned to the cabinet set up beside the drum riser.

They were still close enough to the stage to hear the test kicks to the bass drum and Cas blinked, his excitement notching up as he saw Kevin Tran sitting behind the drums, yelling something to a figure standing just beyond the curtain to his right.

Kevin shook his head, smiling as he turned his attention back to testing his kit and Cas barely felt when Charlie grabbed his arm and started shaking him. “There he is,” she teased in a sing-song voice and Cas would’ve shoved her if not for the way his heart was pounding in his ears.

Dean Winchester made his way from behind the curtain, his signature Ibanez guitar slung casually at his side. He was clad in a pair of ripped blue jeans and a black button-down that was opened just enough to show a hint of the tattoos on his chest, sleeves rolled up to reveal the colorful spread on both of his forearms as he checked the wireless pack on his guitar.

Cas bit down on his lips and turned to Charlie, who was looking at him with a knowing smirk.

“I’ve met hundreds of musicians,” he said again, his stern expression holding for just a couple of seconds before his excitement broke free in the form of a sloppy grin. “This is ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Charlie said fondly and they both looked back at the stage as the speakers whined and the sound of Dean’s guitar sang out over the silence, signaling the start of their set.

The crowd around them erupted as Sam approached the front of the stage. “How the hell are ya, San Diego?” He grinned, leaning over to smack some of the hands in the air over the barrier. “That’s what I thought.”

Stepping back and pulling his guitar into position, Sam turned and nodded in Dean’s direction before playing the opening riff to “Shut Up and Listen,” the first single from their newest album.

The heavy double bass drum vibrated the earth beneath Cas’s feet before the rest of the band joined in and he fought the temptation to close his eyes and just feel the instruments as they permeated the air. A sweet-sounding melodic phrase played through the PA, Dean’s guitar singing along with Sam’s solid rhythms, harmonizing and punctuating the driving pace of the song.

Cas jumped as the pyrotechnics exploded at the rear of the stage, the light from the fire catching on the red and black body of Dean’s guitar and he swore that he could see a galaxy swimming in the glossy sheen.

Benny and Dean rocked their heads along as they played, their backing vocals joining with Sam’s on the chorus as they bounced back and forth behind their mic stands. Cas smiled and sang along, his body moving to the beat as he stared up at them.

Sam stepped back from his mic and Dean slid up to the front of the stage, smiling down at the faces in the crowd as he set a foot on the monitor, guitar propped neatly on his thigh. He closed his eyes, teeth catching his bottom lip as he lost himself in the music, head swaying and seemingly oblivious to anything and anyone around him as his fingers moved quickly on the fingerboard, his solo an almost perfect recreation of his performance on the album’s track.

Cas watched in awe, captivated as he always was when he got to watch Dean play live. When the guitarist finally opened his eyes, Cas felt his breath catch in his chest. Dean’s light eyes were cast in their direction and it felt like he was staring straight at them as he picked the final note, a knowing smirk forming on his lips as the very air seemed to bend along with the string.

The spell was over quickly as Dean hopped back to his spot on the right side of the stage, Sam’s voice pouring through the PA once again as they played the chorus a final time. The crowd below them erupted in screams and cheers as they closed out the song.

He watched as Dean shouted something to Kevin, the two of them laughing hysterically for a moment before Kevin started the next song and he smiled. That was why he loved this band. They always had such a blast on stage. And the way they made him _feel_ – like he was floating through the music, and if he tried hard enough, he could pull the notes of the songs out of his very soul.

They were incredible live, their energy non-stop, their pulse-pounding shows like a drug that lingered in his system for days. They were all talented musicians, but Dean’s playing was unlike anything he’d ever seen – such technical mastery and skill made to look so easy.

He was overwhelmed with the knowledge that in less than 24 hours, he’d have the opportunity to sit down with one of the best musicians in the world, one whose music had played as a soundtrack to so many important moments in his life so far.

The fact that he was insanely hot, well – that was just a bonus.

 

***

 

Dean toed his pedal before walking across the stage, taking the bottle of whiskey that Benny held out for him and tilting it back, the burn in his throat flushing his already warm skin. He set the bottle down on the cabinet behind them before turning back to the crowd and pumping his fist as they cheered.

Sam was bouncing on the balls of his feet as Benny started the bass line of the next song and Dean ran up to his side of the stage, hopping onto the small riser set above the monitors, hitting his cue as he rocked dangerously close to the edge.

He was lit, sweat pouring down the small of his back as the fire surrounding the back of the stage cast a red glow to his skin, his fingers working carefully as he strummed along to driving pace of the drums.

Sam jerked away from his mic stand as he finished singing the bridge, hopping up alongside him and they grinned at each other. Rocking their heads to the beat, Dean fingered his solo with ease as Sam poured a bottle of water onto the screaming kids on the front barrier.

They knocked shoulders as Dean finished and Sam jumped back down to his mic, picking up the lyrics as Benny sang along beside him.

From the moment Dean had first stepped on stage, he knew it was where he belonged. It was his haven. A place of saturating sound and lights, where he could let go of everything except the feel of the strings and the sounds of the crowd singing along. It was chaos within chaos and strangely calm, pure and passionate and every note drove him higher.

They stopped playing as Kevin kept up the beat on the drums, the three of them in the front clapping their hands over their heads as Sam chanted out the chorus line to the song, once, twice, three times.

Dean jumped from the riser, spinning before he landed on the large black mat covering their mic cords, strumming on the down beat as the song kicked back for one more push through the chorus, the pyrotechnics popping loudly behind him.

He was at peace.

 

***

 

“Hey man, what’s your name?” Dean heard Kevin chatting with a fan as he made his way toward the small crowd gathered in the main hallway, backstage passes displayed proudly around their necks.

He was soaked, his leg sore and aching from where he’d accidentally kicked a steel pole under one of the risers. He wanted a bottle of water and a shower. But first, as always, came the fans.

He smiled as he stepped over to the group, taking a picture offered by a teenage girl and signing his name as she chittered excitedly, thanking him. He took pictures with a few kids, vaguely registering the dim roar of conversation as his bandmates did the same behind him.

He signed a guy’s guitar and they talked about the new Schecter line for a few minutes before Dean felt someone tap his shoulder. He turned and his eyebrows raised as a very attractive young woman smiled at him, holding out a Sharpie.

The sloppy handwriting of his bandmates littered her exposed cleavage and he took the marker, looking at her questioningly.

“Will you sign my chest?” she asked hopefully and Dean smirked.

“Obviously.” The young woman laughed as he uncapped the pen, sticking her chest out and lifting her chin so he could lean forward and scrawl his name across her right breast.

“Thank you,” she beamed as he straightened, handing her the pen.

“Anytime.” He gave her a wink, turning at the sound of his name to find Sam holding out a red cup for him and he took it, nodding his thanks as he took a sip. The beer was cold and crisp and felt amazing against his sore throat.

He could hear Benny talking with a small group of girls that included the autographed one, telling them they should come back and have some drinks with them at the hotel and he laughed under his breath as he slipped away from the crowd and headed toward the back dressing room.

He walked over to the small sink, setting down his cup and cutting on the cold water, splashing it against his flushed skin and dragging his hands down his face to wash away the grime. He stood and looked at his reflection, taking in the way the black liner he wore for shows smeared down his wet face and lined his smoke-reddened eyes.

He sighed, picking up a towel and wiping at the haphazard soot on his face before tossing it onto the counter and pulling his foot up to prop it on the sink edge. He rolled back the leg of his jeans to inspect the damage to his shin and hissed when he saw the large purple and black bruise already formed, standing out in stark relief to his skin.

That was going to hurt like a sonofabitch tomorrow.

He pushed his jeans back down and let his leg fall from the sink, staring at himself in the mirror for a moment more before picking his cup up and turning back to the door to the hallway. He had a feeling that his shower and water would be a while in coming, but that was okay. He wasn’t quite ready to come down, anyway.

 

***

 

Cas stepped out of the taxi and ran a hand over his jacket to straighten out the wrinkles in the thin leather. He was nervous and excited, but he’d spent the last fifteen minutes trying to talk himself into a sense of calm.

“I’m a professional. I got this,” he told himself, his lips raw from biting them to control the stupid grin that wanted to break across his face every time he faced the reality of his situation.

Ever since starting his music blog in college, he’d had the chance to meet musicians in the area, pick their brains and talk shop behind the scenes and at shows. But it wasn’t until his blog’s popularity grew beyond what he’d ever thought possible that he started getting offers to interview them for actual magazines. He’d been a “professional” journalist for a little over a year but sometimes, it still seemed a bit surreal.

He made his way to the small coffee shop on the corner and took a moment at the door to compose himself, his excitement churning his stomach slightly. He took a deep breath and pulled the door open, the small brass bell on the handle ringing through the air as he stepped through the threshold.

Dean was almost unrecognizable sitting in the back and it took a moment for his eyes to find him. His signature spiky hair was tucked unceremoniously into a plain black beanie pulled over his ears, his show attire replaced with a pair of well-worn jeans and a well-loved Queen t-shirt.

He was staring absently out of the window beside him, hands wrapped loosely around a steaming mug of coffee, fingers tapping a restless rhythm against his knuckles when Cas finally made his way toward him.

“Dean Winchester? I’m Cas Shurley,” he said politely as he stepped up to the booth and Dean jumped slightly before turning toward him. Cas didn’t miss the way his brows rose slightly as he regarded him and he smiled as he offered his hand.

Dean’s smile was soft as he took his hand, grip firm but gentle, his palm hot from the warmth of his coffee. “Nice to meet you. Have a seat.” He pulled his hand away, motioning for him to sit across from him.

“I hope you weren’t waiting long,” Cas said with a guilty look as he sat down, reaching into his bag to retrieve his tablet.

Dean shook his head. “Not at all. We’re all staying at the hotel across the street for the weekend.” His voice was softer than Cas expected, nothing like the loud and rambunctious tone he offered to the crowd the day before.

“For the benefit?” Cas prompted and Dean nodded slightly as he took a cautious sip of his coffee.

“Do it every year,” he said and Cas caught the briefest change in his expression, something wistful in his eyes.

Cas smiled at him again as he pulled up the recorder on his tablet and set it to record. “It’s a great cause. I’ve worked with Marian on a couple of projects. Mostly advertising for her on our blogs and main site,” he told him, placing the tablet on the table between them carefully.

Dean blinked at him in surprise. “You know Marian?” The smile that broke across his face was unexpected, full and brilliant and Cas felt his heartbeat kick in his chest. “That’s a badass lady, right there. We did a project raising money for Johns Hopkins a couple of years ago, on our _Resilience_ tour. She handled the whole thing.”

Cas nodded. “I remember that.”

Dean’s satisfaction was evident in the way he sat up and spread out, his arm slinging over the back of the booth. He regarded Cas with what he recognized as guarded interest and he felt put on display as his eyes met Dean’s. Faint smudges of black eyeliner still darkened his lashes from the day before, his green eyes shining in the sunlight reflected off of the glass.

“So, did you get a chance to make our set?” Dean asked casually and Cas couldn’t help but feel like he was studying him.

“Absolutely. The pyrotechnics you guys put on were impressive.”

Dean barked out a sharp laugh. “Yeah, that’s all Benny,” he said amusedly. “At least the stage didn’t catch fire this time.”

Cas’s eyes widened. “Your stage caught fire?”

Dean chuckled as he took another sip of his coffee. “Two, three years ago. Small indoor venue. One of the stage racks got moved too close to the front. We’re in the middle of playing “Black Leaves” and Sammy turns around and just _stops._ We turned around just in time to watch the entire backdrop go up in flames. Kevin just barely got out of the way before it lit up behind him.”

“Holy shit,” he breathed and Dean let out another small laugh. “I didn’t hear anything about that.”

“We were in South America. A lot of shit goes unnoticed when you’re on tour on another continent.”

Cas shook his head. “Sounds like. Jesus.” He took a deep breath and rested his hands on the table in front of him before looking up to meet Dean’s eyes once again. “So, about the new album.”

“Yeah, about that.” Dean gave him an easy smirk, his right brow raising suggestively and Cas smiled a bit giddily, his nerves getting the best of him for just a moment before he pressed on, trying to ignore how being under that playful gaze made him feel. Dean had a reputation for being an unabashed flirt, regardless of gender, but Cas was utterly unprepared for the twisting of his insides under such a stare.

“I got an advanced copy of it last week and I’ve listened to it about twenty times so far,” he told him.

“That many? Wow,” Dean said, sounding genuinely impressed. “Most reviewers listen once and either love it or hate it.”

Cas gave him a smirk of his own. “I’m not your typical reviewer,” he commented, scratching lightly at his temple. “I noticed something, though and I wanted to ask you specifically about it. Before we get into the crux of everything. Let me preface by saying that the album is incredible. The lyrical shift to global matters is intense and executed _really_ well. But there’s something about your contribution – your solos…”

Cas watched as Dean’s expression changed and he pulled his arm away from the booth to lean forward. He mirrored Cas’s position, hands lacing together in front of him on the table and brushing against Cas’s for a moment as he settled. He raised his brow once again, this time curiously, prompting Cas to continue.

“In your previous albums, there was… I want to say a story-telling aspect to your work. It felt cohesive, like they were all parts of the same whole. There was an underlying theme – a feeling to it, like each track picked up where the last left off. Where with this album, it feels more deliberately singular. It feels like – There just wasn’t the same… Well, I guess the same voice, the same story-telling as the last three albums. I really don’t know how else to explain it.” He looked at him questioningly, seeing an almost frantic, panicked look in Dean’s eyes.

He was silent for several long moments and Cas was ready to sit back and apologize when Dean lowered his head and started nodding. “You’re right.”

Dean took a deep breath and raised his eyes to meet his and Cas blinked at the expression he saw on his face, almost like a guilty child caught in a lie. “This album is a lot different than the last three. There’s a very real, very literal message in this album that was missing in our previous stuff. A message that was very important to Sam and Kevin. Lyrically, I think it’s the best album that we’ve ever put out.”

Cas tilted his head slightly. “So, what was different about this one?”

Dean licked his bottom lip absently as he shrugged stiffly. “Before – It always started in my head. I’d write the melodies. I’d feel the – I guess what you called the story. I’d write most of the album and the guys would come in after, in the studio and add to what I’d started, build on it to make it ours. This time, we worked backward.”

Cas stared at him for a long moment, taking in the guilty expression on his face, the hushed way he spoke as if what he was telling him was a closely guarded secret. He figured that it probably was, or at least not widely known. He’d been a fan of theirs for years and had never known that he’d written the songs on the previous albums on his own. “That sounds terrifying,” he finally said and Dean let out a surprised scoff.

“It was… It really was. But this wasn’t my story to tell. It was theirs. So I followed their lead this time and let them tell it… And I think we needed to do it this way, this time. We’ve been together for so long and we hadn’t collectively written a record since _No Holds_ and we needed to stay innovating, you know? Come together and do something that showed our personal growth – not just our technical growth.” He scrunched his brows together. “God, I sound lame.”

Cas smiled at him warmly and shook his head. “No, I understand what you’re saying.” He took in the discomfort on Dean’s face and let out a quick breath, tapping the table with a finger, eager to change the subject. “So tell me more about the lyrical shift. You guys got really political on this album. Do you think there will be any backlash from the fans?”

Dean sat back, his posture relaxing slightly and Cas let out an inward sigh of relief. He knew he tended to push it when it came to some of his questions, especially when what he had to say was essentially a critique but he couldn’t resist asking him about what he’d heard. Not when this was probably his one shot to ask him.

“I think anything worth saying will have backlash of some kind,” Dean told him thoughtfully. “But our fans are pretty awesome. I think a lot of them have values that fall in line with what is said on this album. I think they’ll get behind it.”

“And if they don’t?”

Dean shrugged. “Fuck ‘em.” He let out a small laugh at Cas’s surprised expression. “We don’t make music for the critics. Never have. We make it for people that want to listen to it. If they like it, awesome. If they don’t, tell ‘em to listen to something else. It’s that simple.”

Cas grinned at him. “That simple, huh?”

Dean cocked his brow at him and it was like someone kicked him in his diaphragm. “Lots of things are simple if you let them be.”

Cas bit his lip as he felt his wandering eyes on him again, an unabashed appraisal that he so rarely felt subjected to. And coming from Dean Winchester, it was making him downright flustered.

“It sounds like Sam has been putting in a lot of work lately,” he said, attempting to ignore the gaze and the annoying flutter in his gut. “His vocal range on this album is impressive.”

Dean relented with a knowing smirk, averting his lingering gaze and picking up his cup. “He’s been kicking ass,” he told him, taking a sip of his tepid coffee. “Started working with a new vocal coach. He’s been singing opera.”

“Opera?”

“Yup. The control it takes to sing opera is insane. He’s pretty much retrained his whole body to sing harder, longer and with almost twice the range. He had to quit drinking for two months to train adequately. Man, he was grouchy.”

“That’s incredible.”

“Sammy’s pretty incredible. But, you know, he’s still my little brother so I have to give him shit. I’ve seen him grow from this bratty kid who couldn’t even stay on key to this awesome performer that sings freaking show tunes around the apartment in his underwear.” Dean laughed, nodding to himself. “He worked really hard on this album. I’m really proud of him.

Cas gave him a soft smile, taking in the fond expression on his face as he talked about his brother. “Sounds like.”

Dean looked up from where he was staring at his hands, holding Cas’s gaze for a long moment and Cas let himself look back, just this once. Dean’s eyes were so intense and close-up he could make out the small slivers of amber that reflected in the light. Like he was looking down into a dark sea, the highlight of the waves standing in contrast to the depths below.

The moment lasted longer than it should have and Cas could feel the heat beginning to flush his cheeks. Dean was gorgeous. But there was something in his eyes, something far behind that playful smirk, something dark that he recognized in a far-off, abstract way.

The sound of the waitress’ voice beside them broke them from the moment and Cas jumped slightly. He blinked owlishly at the older woman smiling down at him. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice you over here, darlin’. Would you like something?” The woman’s southern drawl was thick and Cas shook his head, noticing the faint pound of his pulse in his ears.

“No, thank you. I’m – I’m okay.”

He watched as the woman topped off Dean’s coffee and he thanked her politely, grabbing at the packets of sugar sitting between them.

“So…” he began, obviously amused at Cas’s flustered state.

“So.”

Cas laced his fingers together, resting his elbows on the table to balance his chin on his hands. He was determined not to let his silly infatuation interfere with his interview. This was his one shot to pick the brain of one of the best musicians of his generation and he was going to take full advantage of it, pretty eyes and flirtatious smirks be damned.

Dean took a careful sip of his coffee, eyes staring back at his determination over the rim, seeming to taunt him. Cas took a deep breath, pushing down any and everything that wasn’t related to the task at hand.

“Tell me more about the album. You said it was particularly important to Sam and Kevin. How so?”

 

*** 

 

Dean knocked on the hotel door and fidgeted restlessly as he listened to the sounds of movement on the other side. When Sam opened the door, he was clad in an oversized pair of sweatpants, a gaming headset perched lopsidedly on his head.

Dean didn’t wait for an invitation and stepped into the suite, walking over to the gaudy sofa before turning toward his surprised bandmate. “What do you know about Cas Shurley?” he blurted out and Sam stared at him, blinking several times before tilting his head at him.

“What? Dude, you feeling alright? You look a little pale,” he joked and Dean rolled his eyes, stomping over to the small fridge and grabbing the fifth of Johnny Walker Black out of the back.

“This music blogger, the one Metal Monthly got to interview me for the release…” he trailed off as he finished pouring himself a shot and took it with a satisfied grunt. “He knew I didn’t write this album.”

Sam, who had been stepping toward the bar to join him, stopped in his tracks. “What do you mean?”

Dean grabbed another shot glass and poured two more drinks out. “I mean, he straight up told me that he could tell this album was different from the others and that my – this is how he put it – that my solos were lacking in their story-telling.”

“Wow.” Sam stepped up and pulled the headset off of his head, tossing it carefully onto the couch behind them.

Dean gaped at him as he watched Sam pick up his glass and knock back his shot. “Wow? That’s all you can say? Dude, David didn’t even pick up on the differences in writing on this album and he’s produced our last _three._ I mean, he said he got it last week and listened to it twenty times already and he could tell my – I mean, _how_? How did some random writer – Just -” Dean rambled, his hands shaking slightly as he took a sip of his second shot. The more he thought about it, the more scrambled he felt.

He’d kept his composure for the remainder of his interview with Cas, even managed to flirt with him a little bit, but the combination of his insight and his damn eyes staring at him with such genuine curiosity had him on edge. He’d done hundreds of interviews over the last ten years, some with the band, some on his own but he couldn’t recall every being so thrown by a journalist or question before. Give him an opportunity to talk about technical mastery or performing, he could talk all day and night.

But this guy, he’d heard something in his music that _no one_ in his career had picked up on. His music had acted as a diary, encrypted and locked away in riffs and melodies and somehow, Cas had noticed that he’d stopped confessing. That this new album lacked his hidden secrets.

“Hey.” Sam’s voice made its way through the haze of scattered thoughts running rampant in his head and Dean looked up when he felt his brother’s hand touch down on his shoulder. “He really got to you, huh?”

Dean blinked dumbly at him before letting out a heavy sigh. “What the fuck?”

“You really don’t know who Cas is?” Sam asked, studying his face as he let his hand fall away.

“Should I?” Dean finished the scotch in his hand, setting the glass on the bar. He followed as Sam stepped over to the bed where his laptop was sitting.

“Well, yeah, dummy.” Sam sat down and pulled the laptop onto his legs and Dean watched as he pulled up a site, turning it for him to see. “Cas Shurley. Heads up Cas’s Corner, a SoCal music site. Started out as an indie blogger. Now he’s one of the most popular music reviewers in the country. And his social media is – Well.” Sam clicked on a link and Dean’s jaw dropped slightly as the pictures flooded the screen. All of Cas at different shows, photo shoots, all in different ensembles that showed off his insanely great ass.

“Holy shit.”

Sam grinned at him. “Yeah, he’s even got his own line of shirts and shit. Really popular with the Orange County crowd. How the hell have you never heard of him?”

Dean sputtered, eyes flickering up at his brother and back at the screen. “I – I don’t know?”

Sam shook his head, closing the laptop and Dean almost let out a whimper as the images disappeared from his view. “Alright, so… What was he like?”

“What was he – Dude. _Dude._ He was smart. And the way he talked about the album… And his goddamn eyes are like – like fucking crystals.”

The smirk on Sam’s face was equally infuriating and hilarious as the adrenaline in Dean’s system finally subsided enough for the alcohol to calm his nerves. “Hot?” Sam asked devilishly and Dean groaned loudly as he fell backwards onto the bed beside him.

“God, yes. He’s got this hair, like it’s styled but it looks like he just rolled out of bed. And he’s got this cute little nose ring. But man – his voice was just… You remember Jessica Rabbit? Kathleen Turner’s voice? It’s like the male version of that. On ecstasy.”

Sam’s laugh echoed in the hotel suite around them. “Damn, dude.”

Dean grabbed the pillow beside him and covered his face. “And he doesn’t fuck with musicians,” he said forlornly, his voice barely audible through the pillow and Sam patted his leg consolably.

“You asked him out?” Dean didn’t miss the hint of surprise in his voice.

Dean peeked out from behind the pillow and sighed heavily. “No. He told me when I asked if he was with anyone at the benefit yesterday. It’s apparently his policy – to avoid a conflict of interest with his work.”

“That’s understandable. But I mean – some things are worth bending the rules for, ya know?”

Dean rolled his eyes and sat up. “I need another drink.”

“Me and Benny are gonna beat Kev’s ass at Call of Duty in about an hour. You in?” Sam stood and headed back toward the sofa to retrieve his headset and Dean followed, swiping the Johnny Walker Black off of the bar as he passed.

“I guess.” He inspected the level of the bottle in his hand as he plopped down on the ugly sofa. “I’m gonna need some more of this, though. And food.”

“Well, duh.”

 

 

Dean stumbled back to his hotel room several hours later, drunk off scotch and overstuffed on pizza. Getting his ass handed to him in Call of Duty with his boys was just what he’d needed after his interview with Cas. Well, that and the second bottle of liquor he’d finished off mostly by himself.

Benny and Kevin had been just as surprised as Sam when he’d told them what Cas had said to him about the new album but they offered their reassurances that it was just a one-off and combined with the alcohol and multiple death-screens, it’d been enough to pacify him.

Now that he was alone in his hotel room, though, his drunken curiosity about Cas was getting the best of him. He sat on the bed, kicking his shoes off and grabbed the tablet on the nightstand, pulling up the site that Sam had shown him earlier. He sat back on the pillows, pulling his knees up to prop the tablet in his lap and scrolled through the main page of Cas’s Corner.

He noted blog posts from varying topics from several contributors but they didn’t interest him. He wanted to know more about _him_. It didn’t take him long to find the most recent review he’d posted and he pulled it up, happy to see it was on a band he was actually a fan of.

His review was atypical, his focus less on the sound and pace of the album and more on the feel. Dean smiled to himself as he reviewed the technical aspect of the album, his critique fair and honest. He knew his shit, but he didn’t dwell on the album’s production value, instead focusing on his emotions as he listened to it.

It was refreshing to read something so raw and honest and it was surprising to read such an emotional review so freely accepted in the mainstream. He could definitely tell that Cas had started as an indie blogger as most mainstream reviewers more rooted in promotability than emotional value.

He finished the article and moved on to his next one. And then the next.

The way he spoke about music was almost like he was talking about an old friend, familiar and lovingly. His adoration and dedication to the craft was obvious but it was his passion for the messages that the music he heard spoke that really struck a chord with Dean. He could see how someone with such an intimate and open relationship with music could’ve heard the differences in his work – Cas was wholly invested in every piece of music he heard, committed to hearing everything it had to offer him and deciphering the hidden messages lurking beneath the surface.

It was no wonder his blog turned into such a phenomenon. He was truly interesting and unique.

He didn’t realize he’d been reading for two hours until he blinked and his eyes burned. Looking at the clock, he saw that it was almost midnight and cursed. Their flight was scheduled to leave in eight hours. He was going to hate life all day if he didn’t try to get some sleep.

The link to Cas’s social media page tempted him at the top of the page and his finger hovered for a moment before he sighed. “Ah, fuck it.” He pulled it up, feeling like a complete stalker as he took in the stream of photos loading on the screen.

He clicked on the first one that caught his eye and bit his lip. Cas really was an incredible looking guy. In the picture, he was flanked on either side by what looked like gogo dancers, fluffy boots and all. He was smiling widely, wearing a tight fitting pair of pants, the sleeves of his AC/DC shirt cut off low and showing the fine muscles encasing his ribs. He was solid, tall and lithe and the cut up shirt allowed Dean to see the tattoos that decorated his arms.

He'd been wearing a jacket at the coffee shop and while Dean figured he shouldn’t be too surprised, he hadn’t noticed at the time that Cas had any artwork. Intrigued, he backed out and scanned the thumbnails for a picture that showed more of his tattoos. He clicked on an image a few rows down and swallowed back the sudden choking sensation in his throat when the picture loaded.

The photo looked like it had been taken at a day festival, not unlike the benefit they’d just played, people scattered about in the background. Cas was facing away from the camera, staring up at the stage in front of him, his back bare except for where his t-shirt hung over his shoulder like a towel.

Various tattoos were etched into the skin of his back, almost a full spread. A Celtic knot and Horus eye adorned his left shoulder and lower back accompanied by a couple of other symbols he didn’t recognize, pulled together into one cohesive piece by sunset-colored waves and a smattering of delicate flowers he didn’t immediately recognize. It was the tattoo on Cas’s right shoulder blade that gave him pause and his fingers curled into a fist as he looked down at the symbol etched into the skin of his left wrist that matched it.

It was Dwennimmen, the Adinkra symbol for humility, strength and wisdom. The symbol had hung in the living room of the home he and Sammy had shared with their mother growing up. And it was also the singular image on the cover of _Fracture_ , the album he wrote following her death almost eight years ago.

He’d seen tattoos of the symbol before. It was common for fans of certain bands to get symbols or lyrics that resounded with them tattooed on themselves. But seeing it on Cas so unexpectedly while still so solidly drunk hit him like a ton of bricks and the sudden sadness that overtook him stole his breath. He turned off the tablet and flung it onto the bed, scooting down and staring up at the ceiling with a heavy sigh.

His mother’s death defined him. There was the Dean that existed before she died and the Dean that existed after he’d finished writing _Fracture_. The person he was during that year in between wasn’t really a person at all. It was a broken shell, a prisoner of grief and guilt, full of questions without answers. The faint glimmer of his humanity made itself known in bursts of creative inspiration, the totality of the album written during those rare moments when he got drunk enough to allow himself to feel.

During that time, Sam had found him drunk in a rage of self-pity way too many times. He was surprised he’d survived. He knew he wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for his brother and his bandmates. They’d pulled him back from the edge so many times, it was almost like dancing.

Dean groaned as he reached over to turn out the light on the nightstand. He was drunk, he was upset and he had to be up in six hours. It was no time for thinking. It was time for a nap.


	2. Chapter 2

Cas stared at the blinking cursor on his screen and frowned. He’d been sitting there for twenty minutes but he couldn’t bring himself to start typing. He’d already listened to his interview with Dean eight times through but he couldn’t get over the feeling that something was amiss.

The way Dean had looked at him when he told him about their change in writing style, it felt off and it was bugging the shit out of him.

He pulled up his browser and did a general search on Static Sleep, groaning when thousands of results loaded on his screen. He sighed and clicked on the first video that popped up.

After four hours of reading past articles and watching old interviews, he couldn’t find _one_ segment where the members of the band discussed their writing process in detail. It certainly wasn’t well-known that Dean was the main songwriter on the previous three albums.

As interesting as it would be to read as a fan, as much credibility as it would lend to his article, he couldn’t get over the feeling that he would be betraying Dean if he included what he’d told him.

He sat back in his chair, listening to the sound of Dean’s guitar playing in his apartment. He’d had their _Red Line in the Sand_ album playing on repeat the entire day as he struggled to write his article and he wondered what it was _exactly_ that was holding him back – why this was such a big deal to him.

It dawned on him that every single emotion, every single story he’d heard, that he’d _felt_ on those albums had come directly from Dean. His heart ached at the thought. So many of Static Sleep’s songs were wonderful simply because of the relatable pain they portrayed.

He couldn’t make Dean own all of that. Not if he wasn’t willing to do so himself. And it was evident by the band’s careful avoidance of discussing it that it was something that they kept to themselves. He had the sneaking suspicion, that if he was right about all of it, that they did it for that exact reason. If all of them took credit for the albums’ creation, no one person had to admit to the pain the songs so openly displayed.

It made him see Dean in a whole new light.

He knew it was all speculation and that he could be totally off-base, but if there was any chance that he was right, he knew he couldn’t tell what he felt was a closely guarded secret. He took a deep breath, scooting back up to his desk and tried not to think about how if he was right, then Dean had indeed shared something truly special – with _him_.

 

**

 

Sweat dripped into his eyes and Cas wiped at his face with the back of his gloved hand before refocusing on the bag in front of him, throwing a couple of punches into the body of it before maneuvering to hook a knee to the side.

Static Sleep’s “Downpour” blasted through the earbuds in his ears as he worked the bag, trying to pacify the anxiousness that’d been festering inside of him the last few days. He’d been listening to their older albums, armed with the knowledge of Dean’s confession and it physically ailed him to know that everything he heard came from one man.

Their first album _No Holds, No Returns_ was nothing too spectacular, a typical teenage angst-filled album from a group of kids that had yet to discover their talent and vibe. But _Fracture_ was a completely different story. The album was heartbreaking, wavering from existential grief to questions of identity and death, all of it built on a foundation of lingering sadness and longing. The album had struck a chord with him when it first debuted, the feeling of being isolated and alone in a world full of people that had their shit figured out something that had always made him feel _less_ alone.

Knowing that all of those feelings came from the man he’d sat across from just weeks before had gotten under his skin. And he couldn’t help but continue listening to their music, relating it all back to himself and to Dean, wondering if what he heard was really what Dean had felt. And hoping that those feelings had since perished.

He berated himself for lingering on the memory of him, of reading into his music more so than he’d done previously, telling himself that it was all just professional curiosity. He was full of shit and he knew it.

So he worked out, he boxed, he beat the shit out of the body bag at the back of his gym until his arms no longer worked. And when he finally made it back to his apartment, tired and sore, he turned on their _Ill-Fitting End_ album, laying down on the couch and closing his eyes.

He knew he shouldn’t. He knew he should just avoid their music entirely until the memory of their meeting wasn’t so fresh and he could dismiss what he felt when he listened to their songs. He just couldn’t resist. Listening to them with the knowledge that they came from Dean made him feel closer to him, like he was privy to something inside of Dean that no one else was. As silly and as stupid as he felt for indulging in it, he still couldn’t help himself.

He wanted to understand him.

 

**

 

“This one should go over on the left side. Not behind Benny, but kind of caddied between him and the drum riser, I think.” Kevin’s voice carried through the small warehouse as Dean walked aimlessly around the space.

They’d been in New York for the last two days, going over stage designs with their manager and the designer, getting things hammered out for their European tour coming up in the few weeks.

Dean had never been a fan of it. It was too tedious, too planned. It was definitely more of Kevin and Benny’s area of expertise anyways. Just give him his guitars and his rack and tell him to play. That’s where he excelled. Not this design bullshit. But Kevin loved the intricacies of it, and Benny – well, Benny was happy with anything that involved fire and lots of lights.

His mind wasn’t on the tour at the moment, anyway. It was far away, back in California with that music blogger, Cas. He still couldn’t believe that he’d told him about their music, where it came from. And what was worse was that he still couldn’t quite figure out _why_ he’d told him.

He’d been adamant, even years ago, that they share the writing credit for everything. He didn’t want the attention that would come with being the sole creator of their music. He got enough attention as it was. And he didn’t see the music as his. It truly was _theirs_ , each of them adding to what he’d built to make it the success that it was.

But it was all still a part of him, confessions that up until now, he’d thought had gone unnoticed.

Dean wasn’t great at communicating how he felt. Life had stolen his voice a long time ago and he hesitated to open up to anyone anymore outside of the small family he had in his bandmates. That’s where his music came in. It was a safe escape for all of the pent up emotions inside of him, that lingering darkness that was always just a breath away. He could take all of the noise in his head and lay it out and make sense of it.

Aside from his bandmates, he couldn’t imagine telling anyone that. But for some reason, that guy, he’d done something to break him down and loosen his lips. And it baffled the shit out of him.

He wondered if there would be any consequences for the band once he published the article and told the world. Would they undergo more scrutiny with the new album? Would it cause problems for the rest of the guys?

He tried to tell himself that all of those questions were why he kept thinking about him. But his confession to him about the album was just the tip of the iceberg in his flailing thoughts. Cas had sat across from him, with those wide, honest blue eyes, and told him that someone _heard_ him. For the first time. He’d heard _his_ story. And after reading so many of his reviews and seeing the way he interacted with music almost like a living being, he had no doubt that Cas had heard every single thing he’d poured into each of his songs.

He felt exposed and it left him uneasy. And fascinated.

“Hey!” Sam’s voice echoed in the warehouse and Dean turned his attention from the stage prop he’d been staring at blankly.

Sam and their manager, Crowley, were walking in through the front of the warehouse, Crowley carrying a caddy full of coffees and Sam lugging a large bag with their breakfast.

Sam walked up and pulled a magazine from under his arm, smacking Dean in the chest with it. “Figured you’d wanna see it,” he told Dean with a knowing smirk before continuing toward the back of the warehouse, the rest of the band and the stage designer all happily chirping about the arrival of their food and caffeine as they followed.

Dean looked down at the magazine in his hands and blinked at his picture on the front. It was the new Metal Monthly, his interview with Cas featured on the cover in bold blue letters over his picture.

He took a deep breath and opened the magazine, bracing himself for what he was sure to find as he turned the pages to reach the article.

His eyes scanned the article quickly, trying to catch any mention of what he’d told him and he frowned, going back to the start and reading it again more carefully. Surely, he’d missed something.

But he hadn’t. It wasn’t there. Cas didn’t include it. Everything else that they’d discussed was there, from the fire in Colombia to their recent political activism to the way he dropped his phone when they got up to leave the café. Everything. Except what they’d initially discussed.

Why the hell hadn’t he included it?

He looked up as he heard footsteps and saw Sam walking towards him, a coffee in one hand and a paper-wrapped breakfast burrito in the other.

“Thanks,” Dean said, taking the coffee he offered.

“What’s the verdict?” Sam asked, taking a bite of his food and gesturing at the magazine hanging open in Dean’s hand.

He shrugged, taking a cautious sip of his coffee. “The review’s solid. Really good, actually. He really got into the lyrics and the message you put out there, but…”

Sam’s eyebrows rose. “But what?”

Dean handed him the magazine. “He didn’t put anything about what he noticed about my parts, or what I told him about writing the past albums. Not a word.”

Sam took the magazine, moving to sit on a large crate situated behind them and Dean followed, sitting down at Sam’s feet. He sipped his coffee, eyes wandering over the large set decorations littering the space, not really registering anything he saw as the questions continued to run through his mind.

“Damn,” Sam said, setting the magazine down on his propped knee when he finished. “Did you really drop your phone when you got up to leave?” he laughed and Dean glared at him.

“Yes. Okay. I was a little distracted.”

Sam laughed again and tossed him the magazine. “You should ask him out.”

Dean scoffed. Leave it to Sammy. He stared down at his coffee as he picked at the lid. “He doesn’t mess with musicians, man.” Sam kicked at his knee and Dean looked up to find him holding a piece of paper. “What’s this?”

“His number.”

Dean stared at him in surprise as he took the piece of paper from his outstretched hand. “What?”

“If you don’t ask him out, I’m going to do it for you.” He leveled him with a knowing look and Dean gaped at him.

“How the hell did you get his number?” he asked, looking down at Sam’s messy handwriting scrawled across the white page and Sam shrugged.

“You said he knew Marian. I asked Marian.” He took a bite of his burrito, grinning as he chewed.

“You son of a bitch,” Dean said with a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head.

“You love me.” He stood, offering his hand to Dean and he took it, getting to his feet before picking up the magazine from its place on the concrete floor.

“I can’t believe you got his number.”

Sam pursed his lips and arched a brow at him as they headed toward the back to join the rest of their group. “Really?”

“No, I take that back. I definitely can.”

“That’s better.”

 

**

 

“Don’t forget. We need the new banners updated by four,” Cas said, appraising the three faces looking back at him on his monitor.

“Already have it done. Just need to upload it to the server and set it to go live,” Alfie replied and Cas did a silent cheer.

“You’re a god, Alfie,” he told him, scrolling through the directives list on his tablet. “Meg, you all set for your interview with Barrett?”

“Ready, willing and waiting,” Meg beamed. She’d been trying to set up this particular interview for months and it was finally only a couple of days away.

“Okay. Get me the first draft by Wednesday so we can prep for weekend’s posting. Oh, and try not to salivate on his shoes.”

Meg tsked. “Please. I am a perfect gentlewoman.”

“Right,” Cas laughed, his eyes landing on the final bullet on his list.

“Gabriel, I need you to contact our supplier for the Pride Walk merch. They sent me an email saying they’d be delayed on the last shipment and they’re fucking with my timeline.”

“Got it. What kind of delay are we talking?” Gabriel asked and Cas rolled his eyes.

“Like, three days _after_ the event.”

“They’ve been trying to get away with that a lot lately, haven’t they?” Meg noted and Cas nodded.

“Yeah. I really need to follow up with that company in Washington, see if they can get their pricing down a little bit. It’d be so much better than dealing with these asshats.” He set his tablet down and clapped his hands in front of him. “Can anyone think of anything else?”

His three team members consulted their individual notes before shaking their heads in unison on screen. “Okay, then. I’m on my cell if anyone needs me.”

“Oh! Don’t forget. Your MM interview with Winchester comes out today.” Gabriel gave him a knowing look and Cas pursed his lips.

“Thanks, Gabriel. ‘Preciate it.”

“Bye, boss.”

“Later, gators.”

“See ya.”

Cas closed out his conference app and turned to the magazine sitting on his desk beside his printer. He’d picked it up while getting his morning coffee but he hadn’t had a chance to look through it yet. He wasn’t going to tell his team that, though.

The cover was absolutely amazing. Metal Monthly was known for having awesome portrait covers and Cas couldn’t help but smile a little as his fingers traced over the spine.

Dean was clad in a black leather jacket and jeans, his signature red and black Ibanez Iron Label hanging solidly across his mid-section, fingers curled loosely around the custom ebony fingerboard. Dark soot traced along his lash line and the set lights reflected off of his green eyes, making them look like young moss. The expression on his face was downright sultry, lips parted just enough to show his teeth and brow raised suggestively.

Cas picked up the magazine and flipped through it until he found his article, purposefully avoiding the spread of accompanying pictures to focus on his contribution. He was a perfectionist and whenever he did a piece for another media outlet, he couldn’t resist making sure that they hadn’t altered his work.

Satisfied that the article was as he wrote it, he let himself inspect the pictures, telling himself it was merely a part of the inspection of his journalistic integrity.

Yeah, right.

Dean Winchester’s music had held a special place in his heart since high school and since meeting him, the man himself had held a recurring spot in his thoughts, as well. He couldn’t help himself. Static Sleep’s music had acted as a soundtrack to some of the most important moments of his life so far, and Dean's talent for relaying emotion through sound was unlike anything he’d heard from anyone else in his short life.

He was also insanely hot.

“Goddammit,” he muttered, closing the magazine and tossing it onto the desk. This was exactly why he had his policy. He couldn’t be an objective voice worthy of his audience’s trust if he went and got sentimental and sloppy because of his idolatry.

Musicians fed on adoration, built careers on it. He couldn’t be another victim of practiced charisma or he would lose the very identity of objectivity he’d worked so hard to build.

So he would push it out of his mind. He’d avoid their music for a while and try to calm the undercurrent of excitement he’d felt since meeting Dean at that café two months ago. He’d –

Cas jumped at the sound of his phone chirping and scolded himself for getting so distracted. Picking up his phone, his jaw dropped as he saw the preview of a text message on the screen.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he whispered to himself, wondering if the universe was playing some kind of sick joke on him as he opened the message and read it in its entirety.

 

_Hey, Cas. It’s Dean Winchester. I just wanted to say thank you for your article. I know you have your rule, but could you bend it just a little so I could take you to dinner while I’m in town next week?_

Cas blinked at the screen, his heart racing as he read the message over, making sure that yes, he really did just read that Dean Winchester wanted to take him to dinner. Did he really just read that? Seriously?

“What. The. Shit.”

He backed out of the message and started a new text.

 

_Cas: Dean Winchester just texted me and asked me out to dinner._

_Charlie: WHAT_

_Cas: Yeah. And thanked me for my article._

_Cas: What do I do?_

_Charlie: You go is what you do. It’s Dean Winchester._

_Cas: Yeah, but remember that whole thing where I don’t date musicians and I’m super proud of that?_

_Charlie: Dean. Fucking. Winchester._

_Cas: Yeah, you’re right._

_Cas: Shit._

_Charlie: I am so jealous of you right now, I might actually be angry._

_Cas: You’re gay. AND married._

_Charlie: SO?_

_Cas: You’re ridiculous._

_Charlie: And you’re going to dinner with Dean Winchester._

 

Cas grinned down at the phone and chewed on his lip as he gathered the courage to pull up Dean’s text and reply.

 

_Cas: I suppose I can bend the rules this once. When will you be in town?_

_Dean: Are you free next Friday night?_

_Cas: I am._

_Dean: Friday night it is, then. Make sure you’re hungry. I’ll text you when I get back to CA._

_Cas: Sounds great._

_Dean: Yeah, it does. Talk soon._

 

Cas’s eyes flickered to the magazine on his desk and he almost felt dizzy as the excitement and anticipation swam in his belly.

“Holy shit. I’m going on a date with Dean Winchester. Holy shit…” There was no way this was real life... right?

 

**

 

Cas laughed as he watched Meg skip ahead of them into the arena, her hands clapping excitedly.

“I can’t believe I’m finally seeing Muse! Finally!” she squealed, turning to look back at the group behind her.

“I can’t believe you, of all people, have never seen them live,” Charlie said, looking around at the still brightly-lit Long Beach Arena and all of the people scattered about.

“I haven’t been here since freshman year. You remember that?” Hannah gave Cas a slight nudge and the two shared a short laugh as Charlie shuddered.

“Oh, god. Don’t – Don’t remind me,” she gagged and Meg skipped back to them, her big brown eyes curious as she looked between them.

“Oh, what happened?” she asked and Cas bit his lip as Hannah turned to her.

“Charlie met Dorothy here. And immediately got into a drinking contest,” she explained.

“Ohh, did you win?” Meg turned to Charlie and the three of them laughed as Charlie gagged again, her face going pale at the mention.

“No. No, she did not,” Cas laughed, putting an arm around his ailing friend.

“It was love at first sight – those two,” Hannah noted as they continued toward the front of the arena.

“I hated her,” Charlie said, her hand still at her mouth. “She was going _down_.”

“You didn’t hate her. You hated the fact that she could drink you under the table and you’d never met anyone that could do that yet,” Cas informed her brightly.

“I hated her.”

“And yet married her a year later. Funny how that works.” Hannah laughed again, eyeing the small crowd in front of them and pointing to an open spot near the front.

“You two go get the spot. We’ll go get drinks,” Cas said, nodding toward the front and Meg clapped happily again, grabbing Hannah’s hand and pulling her toward the front. “I wish I had that girl’s energy,” he told Charlie as they turned to head toward the vendors located outside of the main area.

“You did. When _you_ were twenty-one.” Charlie mirrored Cas, wrapping an arm around his waist as they walked. “So, have you heard from Winchester yet?”

“Way to softball it in, there, Charlie.” Cas rolled his eyes. “No, not yet. He said he’d text me when he got back to California this week.”

“Doesn’t he live in L.A.?”

“I think so. But he told me during the interview that they’d be going back and forth to New York to get ready for their tours.”

They maneuvered their way through a small crowd gathered just outside of the doors and stepped over to the vendor, taking their place in line behind two younger girls. One of them turned and gave Cas a rather unsubtle once over and Charlie tightened her hold on him, tilting her head at the petite blonde until she turned back around.

Cas chuckled under his breath. “You know, I _can_ fend for myself,” he told her and Charlie scoffed.

“That’s no fun, though. So, anyway. Winchester -”

“Dog with a bone, Charlie.” Cas pulled his arm away and pursed his lips at the offended look on Charlie’s face. “I don’t know, okay? We’re going to dinner.”

“You haven’t been on a real date in like a year,” Charlie deadpanned. “And that one guy with the cute ass that you hooked up with a couple times doesn’t count. Those weren’t dates. They were…”

“Carefully coordinated casual sex?”

“Exactly.” Charlie stepped forward as the line moved. “And I know you well enough to know you’re beating yourself up about your rule. So, stop it.”

Cas looked at her and frowned. “I’m not – Okay, yeah. Maybe a little,” he admitted. “I just – He’s got a reputation, ya know?”

Charlie nodded. “Oh, I know. But I also know that I’ve never heard one of those stories accompanied by the precursor of ‘Dean Winchester asked me out to dinner.’ They’re all random stories from on the road and parties and shit.”

Cas chewed on his lip, pulling his ID and credit card out of his back pocket as they stepped closer to the cashier. “I know. But I don’t expect this to be anything more than a one-time thing.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Charlie regarded him skeptically and Cas ignored her, turning to the girl working behind the vendor stand and ordering four beers. He caught Charlie rolling her eyes and fought to contain his smirk.

If he’d answered truthfully, he’d have to admit that he didn’t want this thing with Dean to be anything casual. He was too interesting for that. But if that was all he could get, which was more than likely the reality, he’d take it. He’d already agreed to go out with him. What was the point of breaking his rule if he wasn’t at least going to enjoy himself?

And besides, the last thing he wanted to do was get attached to a musician just to have him leave him behind. He’d played that game once. It wasn’t something he was going to repeat.

“Thank you,” he told the girl as she slid their drinks toward them and the pair of them scooped up two cups each, turning to head back into the main arena.

“I’m just gonna say this one thing and then I’ll let it go,” Charlie said, fast-stepping to fall in line beside him. Cas cut his eyes at her and waited, watching as a grin formed on her face. “If you get a chance to see him naked and you don’t take it, I’m going to disown you.”

Cas choked on his laugh, almost spilling the drinks in his hand as he walked. “You’re such a bad influence.”

Charlie beamed, taking a sip from one of the cups, the foam covering her top lip as she replied, “I’m just the best friend ever.”

“Yeah, okay.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Cas was in the middle of going through paperwork and design choices from the new apparel manufacturer in Washington when his phone rang. He picked it up, flicking his finger across the screen without bothering to look at it before balancing it on his shoulder.

“Cas Shurley,” he said quickly, continuing his task of organizing the print-outs in front of him.

“Hey,” a baritone voice sounded on the other end and he froze. It was Dean.

Dropping the papers, Cas spun in his chair, his hand flying up to hold the phone against his ear. “Hey,” he echoed, his surprise making coherent thought difficult.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Dean told him and Cas could hear the faint sound of traffic in the background behind him.

“No, no. I was just – Papers,” he stuttered, failing spectacularly at his attempt to be cool and he rolled his eyes at himself. “Paperwork.”

“Oh, god. _Adulting,_ ” Dean said, the word dripping with disdain and Cas laughed, his sudden nervousness abating slightly.

“Yeah, I know. So, I take it you’re back in town?” He turned his eyes toward the ceiling, trying to calm the subtle tightness in his chest. God, he was actually really nervous.

“Just got in about an hour ago. Currently stuck in traffic, which is essentially all life in L.A. really is.”

“Ay, Castiel!” a booming voice from Dean’s end sounded.

“Sammy says hello,” Dean informed him and Cas let out a surprised laugh. Oh, Charlie would kill him if she knew. He couldn’t wait to tell her.

“Hello to him, too.”

“He said hi, you jackass. Now will you quit poking me? Jesus… Anyway,” Dean sighed and Cas could almost picture him rolling his eyes at his brother, who’d returned to silence in the background. “You still good to go out tomorrow?”

“I am. Do I get to know where we’re going or…?”

“Nope,” Dean replied matter-of-factly. “I’ve got a car coming to pick me up around four, so I should hopefully make it to San Diego around seven or so, depending on this godforsaken traffic.” As if to punctuate his statement, a horn blasted from his end of the line and Cas could hear Sam yelling at someone to go fuck themselves. “Just need to – _dude. Get back in the car –_ Just need to know where I’m picking you up,” he finished, his agony at his younger brother’s antics clear in his voice.

Cas’s cheeks were sore from how hard he was smiling. “I’ll text you my address when we hang up. Is there a specific attire required?” He looked down at his ripped up jeans and wondered if he’d even be let into a nice restaurant.

“It might get chilly,” Dean mused and Cas’s curiosity notched up about twenty more degrees. “Bring a jacket, just in case.”

“I will do that. So… see you at seven?”

“That’s the plan. I’ll text you and let you know if we get stuck dying a slow death in a cemetery of cars.”

“Dude, that should be a song,” Sam deadpanned and Cas couldn’t help the loud laugh that escaped him as he heard the sound of rustling followed by the tell-tale percussion of a full-contact smack. “Ow, you dick.”

“Please forgive my brother. He’s been chugging mini bottles for the last seven goddamn hours and I’m really very close to choking the life out of him with a shoe string.”

Cas laughed again. “It’s okay. He sounds like a handful.”

“Oh, you have no idea. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait.”

Dean paused for a moment, the smile evident in his voice when he replied, “Yeah. Me, too. Later.”

“Bye.”

The line clicked and Cas pulled the phone away from his face, cradling it in both hands as he stared down at the screen in his lap.

“Dean Winchester” it read, with their talk time flashing beneath. It was surreal.

He let his finger roam over the letters of the name until it locked and turned black. He took a deep breath, letting it out in a whoosh before pulling Dean’s name back up and sending him his address.

He set the phone down and was still smiling when it chirped, alerting him to a new text.

_Dean: See you tomorrow, Castiel._

He bit his lip, the excitement inside of him bubbling over.

“What the hell is my life right now?” he whispered disbelievingly, glancing over at the Metal Monthly magazine sitting on the far side of his desk and seeing Dean’s face partially peeking out from underneath random papers and flyers. “Seriously, what the hell.”

 

**

 

“What the actual fuck, dude?” Dean tucked his phone under his leg on the seat and stared wide-eyed at Sam, who was grinning maniacally from his place beside him in the back of the sedan.

“What? That guy in the Mazda was a dick.”

Dean scoffed and shook his head. He was getting hot and sitting in the noisy traffic was starting to really irk his nerves. Sometimes he hated L.A.

“I’ve could’ve done without you letting him know I’d told you about him – like some bragging shit-box,” he said blandly, propping his head in his hand to stare out of the open window.

“Ah, shit. I hadn’t thought of that,” Sam said reluctantly. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know. I’m just -” He turned back to look at his brother and frowned. “I realized the other night, this is the first time I’ve asked anyone out, like an actual date, since Lisa.”

“I’m well aware.”

Dean chewed on his lip absently as he turned back toward the window. He was excited about his date with Cas, he truly was. There wasn’t a single part of him that regretted succumbing to Sam’s insistence that he ask him out. But there was an underlying anxiety creeping up inside of him and he hated it. He knew what it was and he knew why it was, but it made him feel like a damn prisoner.

Lisa Braeden didn’t just break his heart. She ripped it out and threw it in his face. And his social life since had pretty much just consisted of partying, black-outs and hook-ups with random fans or strangers he usually never saw it again. It was easier that way. Safer.

Taking someone out was a foreign concept to him. He’d forgotten what it felt like. The feeling of being interested in someone, of _wanting_ to see them. It was strange. It was uncomfortable. Not to mention, this was the first time he’d ever actually asked a _guy_ out. Not that he was a stranger to his bisexuality, far from it. He just simply hadn’t felt anything for _anyone_ in a very, very long time.

Despite all of that, he still couldn’t wait to see Cas again. Random visits to his site and looking through his pictures hadn’t been enough to satiate the curiosity that had begun to build in him. He needed to know him better.

“I’m sorry I told that dude to go fuck himself while you were trying to be cool on the phone,” Sam said sullenly, breaking Dean from his thoughts.

His lips curled into a reluctant smile as he rolled his eyes. “You drunk bastard.”

 

**

 

Cas looked out of the window of his second-story apartment for the eighth time in five minutes. Dean had texted him twenty minutes prior saying he’d be there in fifteen.

He checked his hair in the mirror on his wall, running his fingers through it to try and smooth it down. As always, it was a lost cause.

All day, his stomach had felt like he was on a rollercoaster, a strange floating feeling like he’d been dropped off of the edge of a cliff. It was exhilarating. Nerve-wracking and distracting as all hell, but exhilarating.

He turned back to the window just in time to see a black four-door sedan with tinted windows pull up in front of his building. He took a deep breath and let it out sharply just as the phone in his hand chirped.

_Dean: I’m out front._

“Okay, here we go.” He headed toward the door, swiping his jacket from the table and locking the door behind him.

He emerged from the lobby to find Dean standing at the rear of the car, hip propped against the trunk and arms crossed. He was wearing dark jeans and a blood-red button-down, sleeves rolled to his forearms, his hair expertly tousled in his signature style.

He stood straight as Cas made his way out of the building and offered him a welcoming smile, stepping over to open the door for him.

“Hey,” he said as he stepped up to the car, feeling inexplicably shy as he looked up and caught Dean’s gaze.

Dean grinned at him from his side of the door for a moment before leaning forward and quickly kissing his cheek. “Hi.”

Cas could no longer fight the wide smile that formed on his face even as his cheeks flushed and Dean gave him a playful wink as Cas chuckled, climbing into the back of the car.

Dean closed the door behind him and made his way over to the other side as Cas took in the exquisite inside of the car. He said hello to the driver and the older man offered him a pleasant smile in the rearview mirror. Cas wasn’t the type of person that could afford a car service, but if he had to guess, this wasn’t a typical one.

He smoothed the front of his black button-down shirt as Dean climbed in beside him, the door closing with a quiet thud before he tapped the driver’s shoulder and they were on their way.

“I really hope you like seafood,” Dean said, turning toward him. The sun was on its way toward the horizon and in the dimness of the car, his eyes looked darker than usual.

“What kind of sailor’s son would I be if I didn’t like seafood?” Cas retorted, shifting to face him and Dean quirked his brow.

“A Navy brat, huh? Is that how you ended up here?” His tone was casual but Cas didn’t miss the way he shifted slightly closer in his seat.

“Yeah. My dad retired a couple of years ago, but his second to last assignment was here. Back when I was in high school. I just… Kinda didn’t leave, I guess.”

Dean nodded. “This is one of the best cities I’ve ever been to. I’m only in L.A. because Sammy’s there.”

“Not a fan of the traffic?” he teased and Dean groaned loudly.

“Oh, my god. It’s horrid. Look at this.” He pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and held his arms out to him, side by side. His left arm was at least three shades darker than his right. “This is just from the time I talked to you ‘til now.” The exasperation in his voice was comical and Cas aww’d as he pulled his sleeves back down.

“It’s barely noticeable,” he said unconvincingly and Dean looked at him incredulously.

Dean waved a hand in front of his face and Cas sat back in surprise. “Okay, so no problems with your vision,” he said plainly and Cas pushed his arm away with a short laugh.

“Would’ve been if you’d poked me in the damn eye. You can’t just be waving all willy-nilly,” he scolded him playfully and to his surprise, Dean smiled wickedly in response.

“Not the first time I’ve been told that,” he said conspiringly and Cas’s mouth fell open.

“You’re terrible,” he told him as Dean laughed beside him.

“Heard that one, too.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Cas shook his head, turning to look out of the window as the car turned. He recognized the building, a popular resort with an even more popular restaurant that sat right beside the bay.

“We’re here, sir,” the driver announced softly, merging to pull up in front of the resort.

“Good. I’m starving. Go get something to eat. I’ll text you when we’re done,” Dean told the driver, barely waiting for the car to roll to a stop before he was out of the door and around the side.

Cas looked up in surprise as Dean opened the door. He took the hand Dean offered him, letting him help him to his feet. He hadn’t expected Dean to be such a gentleman. He’d probably had the door opened for him four times in his life and half of those were in the last ten minutes.

“Thanks,” he said, wrapping his jacket around his arm as he closed the door.

Dean gestured toward a side patio off of the main building. “Dinner’s that way,” he told him and they set off toward the patio side by side, their steps falling into sync.

The patio was secluded, save for a table of people about ten feet away where the patio started to wrap around the back of the building. They were met by a young hostess who smiled brightly as they walked up and she greeted Dean by name, gesturing for them to follow her.

They walked in silence, Dean’s attention turned to the water and Cas took the opportunity to enjoy the cool breeze coming in. Dean was right. Once the sun set, it would probably be chilly out there.

To his surprise, the young woman led them away from the patio onto a small walkway leading further out onto the beach. They made their way up a set of small stairs situated near the shore line, onto a covered deck that extended out over the water. Small white lights were laced throughout the frame of the white canopy, shrouding the small space in dim ambience, almost like candlelight.

“Here you go,” the young woman said as they reached their table. Their menus and wine glasses were already in place, a bottle of red wine chilling in a sterling silver ice bucket off to the side. The hostess smiled warmly. “Enjoy your meal.”

“Thank you,” Dean said.

“Thank you,” Cas repeated, smiling at the girl before sitting down.

Dean took his seat across from him and scooted in his chair. He looked around before looking at Cas questioningly. “Good?” he asked and Cas was surprised by how serious he was.

“This is a lot better than good,” he told him, his smile bright and disbelieving. They were the only patrons on the small pier, their table literally overlooking the water.

The smile he got in return was breathtaking, Dean’s eyes crinkling at the sides and glittering in the low light and Cas quickly glanced down at his menu for a moment to calm the floating feeling taking over his stomach again. He couldn’t remember being so nervous on a date before, not even when he was a kid.

“It’s the least I could do,” Dean began and Cas looked up at the sudden change in his tone. “I wanted to – No, I needed to thank you, in person.”

Cas furrowed his brows, confused. “For what?”

Dean sat forward, resting his elbows on the menus in front of him. “That thing I told you, about the old albums, how I wrote them…” Cas waited for him to continue and watched as he swallowed. “No one knows about that.” He caught his gaze and held it for a just a moment. “I don’t know why you didn’t put it in your article but I’m grateful.”

“I had a feeling,” Cas admitted quietly, looking out over the water. The sun was almost set, a warm orange flooding the clear water. It was beautiful. “So why _did_ you tell me?”

Looking back, he found Dean silent, his lips parted as if he had started to speak but stopped. His nostrils flared before he cleared his throat and sat up. “I don’t know,” he said quickly, offering him half a smile. “And I don’t know why you didn’t include it. I guess we can just call it serendipity.”

Cas smiled, watching as Dean pulled the chilled wine from the cooler and pulled the half-corked bottle open. “Serendipity. I like that.”

Dean poured them both some wine and returned the bottle before lifting his glass, his face and voice relaxed once again. “To serendipity.”

Cas tipped his glass to meet his. “And crab legs,” he added and Dean laughed.

“Man after my own heart.”

It didn’t take long before their waiter arrived to take their orders and soon, they were feasting on a full spread of seafood, plates of various entrees taking up the space between them on the table.

The barriers of professionalism that had encompassed their first meeting were non-existent, Cas allowing himself to acknowledge and appreciate when Dean’s gaze lingered a bit too long on his lips, smiling when his leg brushed against his underneath the table and stayed there.

Dean regaled him with all of the details of Sam’s drunken debauchery on their flight the day before and Cas laughed when he explained that he got an apartment in the same building as his brother because it made it easier to make sure he hadn’t gotten himself arrested – again.

“I take it you didn’t grow up in L.A.?” Cas asked, taking a sip of his wine.

“Oh, no. Kirkland. Outside of Seattle.”

“Seattle’s got a pretty decent music scene,” he noted. “We lived in Silverdale for a couple of years but I was too young to remember much of it.”

“You moved around a lot as a kid?”

Cas nodded. “Yeah. I mean, as much as any other Navy family. But we came here when I was fourteen and when my dad PCS’ed a few years later, I moved in with my best friend and her parents so I could finish out the school year and graduate. I knew then I wasn’t going to leave California.” He took another sip of his wine and shrugged. “I think my parents did, too. They were pretty supportive about the whole thing. Once they knew I was going to college and not just out to shows with Charlie every night,” he laughed.

“You’ve always been into music?” Dean took a sip of his wine and watched him over the rim, his eyes curious.

Cas nodded, turning his gaze to his plate. “Always. I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up. You move around a lot and people just kind of fall out of your life.” He lifted his gaze and gave Dean a small smile. “But music was always there. My dad would play his guitar in the living room at night and he’d always get me new albums to obsess over. And as soon as I was old enough, he started taking me to concerts. I was hooked.”

Dean’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, like he was contemplating something before he licked his lips. “First concert?”

Cas cocked his head in thought for a moment before breaking out in a smile. “No Doubt. Virginia Beach.”

Dean laughed. “No shit.”

“My dad was big into Gwen,” he confessed. “Yours?”

The side of Dean’s mouth quirked up. “Metallica.”

“No way,” he laughed.

“Yup. I was thirteen. Sold my bike for a guitar a couple of weeks later and never looked back. Actually got to play a couple of shows with them last year.” He reached for the plate of crab legs sitting between them, breaking off one and tearing it open.

“That’s awesome.” Cas shook his head. “It’s crazy where music can take you. If you’d asked me when I was a freshman in college if _this_ is what I’d be doing as a career, I’d have told you to medicate.” Dean groaned in appreciation as he took a bite of the crab leg and Cas smirked at him. “Still might.”

“No, seriously, you’ve gotta try this,” Dean told him, cracking open another large shell and reaching over to hold the meat by Cas’s mouth.

He could feel Dean’s eyes on him as he took a bite, his lips just barely brushing the hardened skin of Dean’s fingertips and it was like an electric jolt shot straight down his spine. From the way Dean was looking at him as he pulled his hand away, eyes half-lidded and dark, he wasn’t the only one that had felt it.

He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, looking out over the dark water beside them. Dean was quiet for a long moment and Cas watched as his expression changed, a wistful smile gracing his lips.

“I love the water,” he said finally, his voice quiet and thoughtful. “I used to go to this lake when I was a kid. When it got too noisy or I just – I’d sit out there and just watch the water. At night, it was like the stars were dancing on the surface and… Sometimes I felt like I could hear the song they were dancing to, ya know?”

Cas was entranced sitting there, watching the emotions play on Dean’s face as he spoke. His voice held that same guarded hesitation it had that day in the café, hushed and low. He turned his gaze toward the bay and took in the sight of the lights dancing on the water. He wondered what their song sounded like.

They sat there, the sounds of the water moving gently with the breeze the only sound in the quiet for several minutes before Dean turned back.

“You don’t happen to like jazz, do you?”

Cas looked at him, puzzled. “Yeah… You remember the friend I mentioned, Charlie? She’s the singer for Vinyl Tights.”

“The ska band?” he asked in surprise.

“Yeah, why?”

Dean smiled. “If you want to, there’s something I’d like to show you after dinner.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but I will hopefully have the next one out tonight as well. Hope you guys are enjoying it so far. If you are, I'd love to hear from you!

The rest of dinner was nice, the two of them enjoying the atmosphere and the company and the lazy haze provided by the bottle of wine they finished. Cas asked him a couple of times what it was that he wanted to show him, but he realized quickly that Dean was a fan of surprises.

When they pulled up to a hole in the wall dive-bar across town, he was certainly surprised.

“I know that look,” Dean laughed. “Come on. Trust me, alright?”

Cas looked at him skeptically but shrugged. “Alright.”

They got out of the car and he followed behind Dean as he made his way to the shoddy wooden door situated on the far end of the brick building. Pulling it open, Cas was surprised to be met by the sweet sounds of a saxophone, its melody fluid and unfamiliar.

Dean smiled as he held the door for him, gesturing for him to step inside. The place was like a lot of bars he’d been in, a well-loved dump. Old barstools lining an even older bar, the walls tinged green with age and the stain of nicotine leftover from before smoking was banned inside, the pungent aroma of day-old sweat and whiskey permeating the air.

“Ah, Winchester!” A gruff voice rang out from behind him and Cas turned just in time to see Dean giving a hug to a barrel-chested man of about fifty, his beard long and ball cap faded.

“How ya doing, old man?” Dean said, patting him on the back before pulling away and turning toward Cas, a hand at the small of his back. “Bobby, this is Cas. I brought his to see Sully.”

The gruff man smiled and it made him look twenty years younger, his eyes bright and welcoming and Cas returned his warm smile, offering his hand.

“Any friend of a Winchester is always welcome here,” he said with a wink, shaking his hand warmly. He looked at Dean. “Why don’t you guys have a seat at the bar? I’ll be back over in a minute. Just gotta make sure Rufus ain’t asleep in the can again.”

Dean laughed and nodded. “Sounds good. Thanks.”

Cas looked at Dean questioningly, his hand still warm against the small of his back as he guided him toward the end of the bar. “Me and Sammy, whenever we get bored on tour, we go looking for places. Out of the way, hidden gems, ya know?

“That guy over there,” he motioned toward the almost elderly man sitting at the front of the room playing the saxophone. “Name’s Sully. He’s played here every Friday night for the last twenty-some years. Won’t let Bobby pay him. Tells everybody ‘You like it, you can buy me a drink.’”

“Wow,” Cas said in awe as they took their seats.

Dean nudged him gently with his shoulder. “You up for some shots?” he asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“What kind of shots are we talking?” Cas swayed to nudge him back and Dean hummed thoughtfully.

“I’m usually a scotch man, myself. Any whiskey, really.”

“Nope,” Cas said quickly, shaking his head. “I can’t do whiskey anymore. Bad. Bad memories.”

Dean laughed. “You bite off a bit more than you could chew?”

Cas shuddered. “Oh, god. I bit off… _everything_. And then it all came back up. I haven’t even been able to smell Jack Daniels since.”

“Okay, then. How about… vodka? Grey Goose?”

“That I can smell. And ingest.” He grinned as Bobby made his way back up to the bar and watched as Dean called him over, ordering four shots of Grey Goose.

“Send one over to Sully and have one on me, old man,” he told him and Bobby thanked him, stepping over to pull the bottle off of the shelf.

“You sure do seem to know a lot about San Diego,” Cas said as they watched Bobby pour their drinks. He set two glasses in front of them before taking the third for himself and carrying the fourth up to Sully.

“Lived in L.A. for the last seven years. We’ve played the area a lot,” Dean replied, smiling as he watched Sully take his drink and offer them a wave. He waved back, giving him a short nod before wrapping his fingers around his own shot and turning his attention back to Cas.

“It’s your turn,” Dean told him.

“My turn for what?”

“To come up with a toast. You gotta. It’s good luck,” he nudged him with his knee and Cas smiled, biting his lip in thought.

“Here’s to… not having to smell whiskey.”

Dean wrinkled his nose and lifted his glass. “You’re terrible at this.”

“I know, it’s bad.” He touched his glass to his and they raised them to their lips.

The vodka went down easy, the warmth it left in its wake satisfying.

“I forgot how smooth this shit is,” Dean said, putting his glass back on the bar with a thud.

“It’s great.” Cas sighed happily and quirked his brow at him. “Wanna do another one?”

“Fiend,” Dean joked as he signaled to Bobby for another round and Cas closed his eyes, letting himself get lost in the sound of Sully’s saxophone, the warm brass filling the air like a sensual cloud.

The song he played was slow, each note effortlessly transitioning to the next, his pauses for breath almost imperceptible. Cas could feel the way the air shifted with each phrase, guiding his body this way and that to the lilts and lows of the song, a dreamy melody with just a touch of forlorn sadness. He had to give it to Dean. This certainly was a hidden gem of a place.

“Hey.” The warmth of Dean’s breath on his neck snapped him back to reality and he realized he’d been sitting like that for a while, their drinks already sitting in front of them.

“Sorry,” he said awkwardly as he pulled away. He had a tendency to get lost in music, especially after a few drinks. People always looked at him strangely when he did it in public. But when he looked up, he saw Dean looking at him with a surprising fondness. “What?”

“Nothing.” He gave him a soft smile. “I was just wondering… Why’d you do it?”

Cas cocked his head to look at him curiously. “Do what?” he asked, watching as Dean tapped a restless beat with his finger against the bar next to their waiting drinks.

“Your rule. Why’d you decide to bend it?”

Cas felt his cheeks grow warm under his searching gaze. “You mean besides the fact that you asked so nicely?” he laughed a bit self-consciously, looking away to run his hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I guess, you’re… a special case,” he finally conceded.

“I’m glad you did,” Dean told him, holding his gaze for a moment more before moving to scoot his stool closer. Cas smiled as he felt him slowly wrap his arm around him, Dean’s fingers resting on his hip and he leaned into him.

“Me, too.”

He was so content in the moment, the warmth of Dean beside him, the sounds of smooth jazz echoing through them, the alcohol in his veins draping everything in a deep, thorough calm. The music seemed to set the pace of their heartbeats and while he knew he shouldn’t, he felt comfortable with Dean.

The conversations they’d shared, the flirtatious gestures and the way Dean looked at him, the alcohol and full stomach, all of it swam together in a contentment Cas hadn’t felt with anyone in years. He didn’t feel weird indulging in the feel of the music, closing his eyes and slowly moving with each cascading note, Dean’s fingers keeping time on his skin. He was warm and seemed just as content as Cas was.

Sully stopped playing a short time later to take a bathroom break and Dean’s breath was warm against his cheek when he whispered, “We should probably drink those.” He tapped Cas’s side gently and nodded at the shot glasses still sitting on the bar in front of them.

“It’s your turn,” Cas told him, straightening to pick up his glass and looking at him expectantly.

Dean grabbed his, the fingers on Cas’s side still tapping absently as the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Here’s to bending the rules,” he said, knocking Cas’s glass lightly and giving him a coy look as he brought the liquor to his lips.

Cas laughed, taking his own and letting out a crisp breath as the burn settled in his stomach.

“You know,” Dean began, setting his glass on the bar, the fingers on his skin squeezing lightly. “You don’t have to get me drunk to take advantage of me.” His tone was playful as he smiled but the connotation hit Cas in his center like a pistol shot.

He bit his lip, his brow raising for a moment, the alcohol in his system emboldening him. “I know,” he told him, a teasing smile curling his mouth as he shrugged innocently. “Consider it a bonus.”

Dean sat back, his mouth curling into a smirk. “Is that right? Well, in that case…” He signaled to Bobby for another round and Cas laughed loudly.

“You’re awful.”

Dean nodded. “Yup.”

Bobby arrived with their drinks quickly and Dean asked him to send another up to Sully before turning to him. “It’s your turn.”

“It is…” he sighed heavily. “Why is this so difficult?”

Dean chuckled. “Just say whatever’s on your mind,” he told him, glancing down at his glass between them.

“Well, then,” Cas began, picking up his glass and raising it to meet his between them. “Here’s to…” He watched as Dean raised a curious brow at his low tone. “Taking advantage.”

Dean licked his lips, a cheeky grin taking over his mouth before he brought the shot up and tossed it back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I liked that one.”

Cas chuckled, glancing around them before knocking back his shot, his hand moving to rest against Dean’s knee. Despite how nice it was sitting there, he had the sudden urge to get him alone and the alcohol helped quicken his tongue as he asked, “You wanna get out of here?”

Dean eyed him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, sure.”

Cas stood as Dean took out his wallet and deposited three twenties on the bar, offering a wave at Bobby and gesturing at the cash. Bobby nodded in acknowledgement before turning to offer Cas a small wave. Cas gave him a smile and waved back before letting Dean lead him toward the front door.

The air wasn’t as chilly in the city as it was on the bay, but it was still a stark contrast to the warm, humid air inside of Bobby’s. Cas was about to comment on the difference but paused as Dean grabbed his hand and stopped them.

He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong but then Dean’s hand was sliding in around his side, pulling Cas to him and any words he thought to speak died on his tongue as Dean took his face in his other hand and kissed him.

His mouth was warm and gentle, his kiss soft and slow and Cas opened to him easily, hands curling to hold on to his sides as Dean stole his breath and reason. He tasted like vodka and butter and when his fingers clenched into the skin of his back, Cas whimpered, dizzy with the taste and feel of him.

When Dean finally broke from the kiss, Cas could barely muster the strength to open his eyes. He could feel Dean’s thumb as it brushed against his cheek before his fingers slid through the short hair above his ear.

“I’ve wanted to do that all night,” Dean confessed quietly and Cas chuckled breathlessly.

“Yeah. Me, too,” he whispered, finally opening his eyes to find Dean studying his face.

“Anyone ever tell you your eyes look like crystals?” he asked and Cas laughed again.

“No. No one’s ever told me that.” He sighed happily, leaning into his hand as Dean placed a quick kiss to his forehead.

“They do. They’re like azure crystals.” Dean stepped away, keeping his arm around Cas as they walked the half a block to where his driver was parked.

“Azure, huh?”

 

**

 

The ride back to his apartment was relatively quiet, neither of them seemingly willing to breach the question on both of their minds. Dean’s hand found his about five minutes into the silence, his thumb tracing mindless lines over his knuckles as he stared out of his window, watching the city pass them by.

Cas looked down at where their hands were joined and smiled contentedly to himself before turning to look out of his own window.

The buzz from the alcohol was strong but not strong enough that he felt impaired or out of sorts. Years of drinking with Charlie had given him a pretty good tolerance. But it still felt nice.

His nerves were finally at rest and there he was holding hands with Dean Winchester, who had exceeded his every expectation. He was witty, funny, sweet and when he wanted to be, irresistibly charming. And the way it felt when he kissed him still had him on a high that he hoped would last forever.

He wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye just yet.

A thought occurred to him and he turned. “When do you leave for Europe?” He knew Dean had been in New York preparing for their tour but he couldn’t recall if he’d told him when they were leaving – for _four_ months.

Dean turned toward him, his expression solemn as he replied, “Wednesday morning. First show is in Munich on Friday.”

“Oh,” Cas said simply, the subtle weight of disappointment settling in his gut. He looked back up as Dean squeezed his fingers lightly and he was staring at their hands, his face thoughtful.

When he looked back up, his eyes held a guarded hopefulness that Cas only recognized because he was feeling it himself. But whatever it was Dean wanted to say, he hesitated.

Cas felt as the car began to slow and pull toward the curb, signaling their arrival at his building.

“It’s getting late,” Cas said quietly, tilting his head as he turned his hand in Dean’s to trace a line down his fingers with his own. He met his gaze, offering him a small smile. “L.A.’s pretty far.”

Dean swallowed, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as he nodded. “Yeah, it’s pretty far.” He looked at him expectantly and Cas bit his lip, considering the almost certain consequences of his actions. He searched Cas’s face for a moment before asking quietly, “Should I tell Eric to head back without me?”

Cas stared into his darkened eyes, that hopeful glint impossible to resist and he nodded slowly, his mischievous grin breaking free as Dean smiled and straightened in his seat.

“Hear that man? You’re off the hook for the rest of the night.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the chapter where it definitely turns into an Explicit story lol You have been warned. As always, comments are the greatest and I'm an attention whore that needs to be fed. Also, this is my first longfic in the Destiel fandom (took a 8 year hiatus from the fandom and just came back) so if you could share it a bit, that would be GREAT. Thank you!

“Wow.” Dean whistled when Cas turned on the light to his living room turned office. Framed pictures of his published articles surrounded his sprawling desk, a couple of signed posters and pictures breaking up the monotony.

He stepped over and inspected them as Cas toed off his shoes and shed his jacket, throwing it over the back of the small sofa. Dean’s fingers traced the line of one of the many computer monitors mounted above the desk before he stopped and turned to him.

“Where’s mine?” he asked and Cas laughed, walking over to join him.

“It’ll go… right here,” he said, stepping past him to the empty space by the large window at the front of the room.

“Seriously? I was just kidding,” Dean laughed and Cas grinned.

“Just waiting on them to finish the frame,” he told him happily. Even if it hadn’t resulted in their current situation, he was still insanely proud of that article. Hell, of getting to interview Dean in the first place.

“You’re pretty impressive,” Dean told him as he made his way over to him and Cas shook his head. “No, really. I’ve met hundreds of journalists, reviewers, press, you name it. But…” he trailed off as he came closer, his hands reaching out to settle on Cas’s hips.

“But, what?” he asked as he pulled him closer, a flutter of nervous excitement making its way through him.

“You have a special relationship with music. I can see it in the way you write about it. It’s like – Songs speak to you in a way most people don’t get.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dean lowered his mouth to his and Cas let out a small contented hum as Dean wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him against him.

Dean was so warm, even through his clothes. It prickled his skin, each pore alive with sensation as Dean deepened the kiss, running a hand up his back and through his hair, the touch deliberately slow and teasing.

Cas let out a heavy sigh as he felt Dean press against him, the immediacy of his want apparent against his thigh and he swallowed thickly, Dean’s lips and teeth roaming the exposed skin of his neck and throat as if he wanted to taste every inch of him.

He was almost grateful for the pause in his assault when Dean pulled away to stare down at him, a wicked grin on his face. He moved to take Cas’s hands in his and raised an inquisitive brow. “Which way?”

Cas nodded to the dark hallway. “Last door on the right.”

Dean took a quick, playful nip at his collarbone before stepping into the hall, pulling Cas along with him. Dean paused as he stepped into the room, looking around to get his bearings before grabbing Cas by the hips and backing him up against the bed. He smirked as he pushed Cas gently down to the sheets, staring down at him as he began to unbutton his shirt.

Inch by inch, he exposed the beautifully tattooed skin of his chest, his sharp collarbones resting atop large filigreed letters, their tendrils reaching up toward his shoulders and eventually turning into the stem of a rose on the side of his neck. Cas made his way to his knees, moving forward to reach out and trace his hand over the letters as Dean pulled his arms free of his sleeves and dropped the shirt at his feet.

The lettering was ornate but instantly legible up close. Cas had seen it before in pictures but they didn’t do the intricacies justice. “ _Numquam obliviscar,”_ he read the words awkwardly, looking at Dean in question. “What does it mean?”

Dean stilled his hand with his, leaning forward and guiding them to lay more solidly on the bed. “It’s Latin,” he told him, his lips brushing against the skin of his throat as his hands moved to work at the buttons of his shirt. “Means ‘never forget.’”

“Hmmm,” he hummed, the cool air hitting his fevered skin as Dean lowered his mouth to work over the newly exposed flesh. He pushed at Dean’s side, guiding him to rest between his legs and Cas raised his knees to bracket him, his fingers digging into Dean’s shoulder as a thumb trailed purposefully around Cas’s nipple.

“Mmm, so that’s a good spot,” Dean noted, amused, his thumb tracing over the hardened peak and Cas moaned, the tension inside of him wrapping tighter. He almost jumped when he felt the wetness of Dean’s mouth touch down on that most sensitive spot, his tongue flicking at his nipple quickly before his teeth bit down _just_ enough.

“Fuck,” Cas breathed, his body pressing up against Dean instinctively and he gasped when Dean’s hips jerked in response. “We’re wearing entirely too many clothes,” he told him and almost groaned as Dean chuckled, his nipple still between his teeth, the feel of his breath against his moist skin causing goosebumps in its wake.

Dean lifted his head and stared down at him, the expression on his face a strange combination of amusement and a dark, piercing want. “Is that right?” he teased and Cas squirmed beneath him, rocking his hips up into him and relishing the way Dean’s breath caught in his chest.

“I must insist that you be naked like, two minutes ago,” he retorted and Dean’s laugh was cut short as Cas dragged his nails down the tender flesh of his side.

“Oh, that’s just mean,” Dean groaned, moving to stand and attend to his belt.

Cas took the opportunity to sit up and shed his clothes, silently thanking his past self for having the presence of mind to wear something that wasn’t skin tight and impossible to get out of.

He kicked off his pants and pulled back the comforter, looking up to find Dean crawling back into the bed, his colorful body completely bare.

“You’re gorgeous,” Dean murmured against his mouth, slotting their hips together. His cock was hot where it rested against the line of Cas’s groin and he barely fought the urge to simply thrust up and rut against him.

Dean’s finger trailed a teasing line down the length of his cock and Cas gasped, eyes falling shut, almost breathless as he whispered, “Nightstand. On the left.”

Cas continued to lay there on the pillows, eyes closed as Dean shifted and he listened to the sound of him rustling around in his drawer before he felt Dean sit back. Cas opened his eyes to find Dean sitting back on his feet, bottle of lube in his hand, staring at Cas with an unreadable look on his face. 

“What is it?” he asked, feeling almost timid under such a stare but the moment was over quickly, as Dean sat up on his knees, bending forward for a quick kiss.

“Tell me if you’re not okay, okay?” he whispered as he sat back, popping the bottle open to spread the contents over the fingers of one hand.

Cas nodded, a lump forming in his throat from anticipation as he moved his feet onto the bed, spreading his knees and exposing himself to Dean’s careful hands. He closed his eyes again as he felt the cold trace of Dean’s fingers along his ass and tried to control his breathing.

He couldn’t believe this. Couldn’t believe Dean was kneeling between his legs, slowly and carefully opening him up, his touch so tender, so patient. Cas felt like he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He wanted him, so much, and the way Dean had been looking at him was driving him crazy.

Dean shifted slightly and Cas opened his eyes, watching as Dean carefully rolled a condom on, coating himself with a handful of languid jerks before looking up at meeting his eyes. His brow quirked slightly as he moved forward, and then Cas could feel him, his cock pressed against his ass as Dean stared at him, eyes questioning. Cas’s heart was beating too fast to speak so he nodded quickly, hands reaching out to grab onto Dean wherever they landed.

Dean went slow, pressing forward until he could brace a hand beside Cas’s head. He smiled, the small crinkles on the sides of his eyes appearing as he lowered himself enough to kiss Cas in the most infuriatingly and blissful, unhurried way, like he was content simply tasting Cas forever, memorizing the slick and shape of his mouth.

When he finally pulled away he grinned down at Cas. “You good?” he asked, moving just slightly and Cas laughed.

“I am so much better than good,” he told him, running his hand through Dean’s hair for a moment before pulling him down to his mouth.

Dean’s hips worked slowly, Cas arching as much as he could to meet him each time and every nerve ending in his body was lit up and pulsing. The press of Dean’s hipbones against him, the softness of his hair gripped in Cas’s desperate hands as his warm mouth worshipped him. The combination was almost too much.

“You feel incredible,” Dean whispered, dropping his head and Cas kissed his temple as he shifted, lifting his legs and wrapping them around his waist. Dean moaned at the change in sensation. “Christ.”

A flutter of electricity made its way through Cas, his pleasure mounting as Dean picked up his pace, cock nailing his prostate more often than not, his hips snapping a quick rhythm as the bed began to rock against the assault. Cas cried out as Dean bared his teeth against the tender skin of his neck, biting down on the end of a hard thrust, the sheen of sweat between them aiding in the quick slide and snap of their hips.

“You are so fucking gorgeous, Cas.” Dean’s voice was barely audible from where he was mouthing at Cas’s throat and Cas let out a gasp as he bit at his collarbone, his sweat-dampened hair brushing his jaw as the force of his thrusts moved them further up the bed.

He whimpered as Dean bit down on his throat, his teeth sharp and heightening the sensations already flooding his mind and body and he pushed his head further into the pillow, exposing his skin to Dean’s hungry mouth as his hands scrambled for purchase on his strong arms.

“Harder,” he pleaded and Dean let out a groan, dropping his head to bury in his neck as he obeyed, Cas crying out with each desperate motion as he coiled tighter, tighter, almost there. “I’m – oh, god, close,” Cas told him as the pleasure inside of him began to build, a while hot light pulsing behind his eyes. “Please don’t stop. Oh, fuck.”

Dean steadied his pace, careful to hit that same spot, over and over as he raised his head to watch him, his hand moving to slide between them and with Dean’s eyes on him with that desperate look on his face, all it took was him wrapping his hand around Cas’s cock to send him over the edge.

It hit him slowly and then all at once, like walking up a steep mountain only to jump off of the other side. His eyes closed, body seizing in pure pleasure and he could feel the clench of it around Dean inside of him as he came warm and wet between the two of them.

The sound Dean made as his body locked tight around him filled his ears, another intense pulse of sheer pleasure making its way through him before he finally opened his eyes and Dean was still staring down at him, arms quivering from their place beside his head.

Cas turned his head and bared his teeth against Dean’s throat, biting down on his pulse as he clung to him and Dean shuddered violently, his body pressing almost painfully deep inside of him, hips stuttering as he groaned against Cas’s skin, his climax washing over him in a tremor Cas could feel from his head to his toes.

“God damn,” he whispered after a moment and Cas smiled softly, his body content and exhausted.

“Second that,” he noted, letting out a gasp as Dean began to pull free of him, a shiver making its way through his over-sensitized body. He watched in a daze as Dean picked up his discarded shirt and carefully wiped at the mess on Cas’s chest and then his own.

Dean tossed the shirt behind him and fell backwards onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling with a hand over his rapidly beating heart. They laid there in silence, both of them catching their breath, letting their fevered skin cool.

Cas turned his head to find Dean looking at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he told him, smiling gently before rolling onto his side. He wrapped an arm around Cas’s side and pulled him close, tucking him against him and Cas went easily, his arm lacing around his waist.

“I had a really good time tonight,” Cas told him. “All of it. Not just – I mean, orgasm – awesome. But everything was really great.”

Dean’s fingers slid into his hair and he could feel his chuckle vibrate in his throat. “Good. Me, too.”

Cas smiled against his chest and sighed, the heavy weight of exhaustion from their night catching up to him. He closed his eyes, listening to the steady beat of Dean’s heart and within moments, he was asleep.

 

 ** 

 

Cas awoke to the sun’s light warming his face and he blinked slowly. The weight of Dean’s arm draped over him, the warmth of him pressed against his back brought the previous night’s events to the forefront of his sleepy mind and he smiled to himself, curling into Dean’s warmth a bit more.

It was strange, his current situation. He’d spent so many years adamant about not getting involved with any kind of musician. But when Dean had asked him out, he didn’t even really hesitate. It was easy, like the way it felt being around him. Natural. Accepting. So when he’d asked him about why he broke his rule for him, he’d told him the truth.

There was something special about Dean. Something that, when he thought back, he’d always felt in a way. From the first time he’d listened to the _Fracture_ album, he’d heard something truly special in his music. His talent, his skill, his passion, all of it coming together to make Cas feel something that he’d never felt before or since.

It was the same when Dean smiled at him.

And that’s why he also felt stupid. And guilty. He had his rule for a reason. And the second Dean had shown interest in him, he’d thrown it all away.

People that made gods out of men and hung them on a pedestal always ended up with their hearts broken. He’d seen it way too many times. Felt it once before himself. And here he was in bed next to a man he’d been fascinated with for years. So stupid.

It all made him feel like a fraud. Like a happy, sore, warm fraud. And god, that was confusing.

“Hey.” Dean’s soft voice sounded behind him and he pushed the thoughts from his mind as he turned in his arms to face him.

“Hey,” he said back, warmth spreading in his chest as Dean offered him a slow, sleepy smile.

Dean pulled him closer and rested his head back on the pillow to look at him. He lifted his arm, gently sweeping Cas’s sleep-messed hair away from his forehead with the back of his fingers.

“Sleep well?” Cas asked.

“Mm-hmm,” Dean hummed. “What time is it?” He squinted slightly at the sunlight shining across the room.

“Probably around nine,” Cas guessed, taking in the angle of the light. The sun always woke him up in the morning long before his alarm. He preferred it that way.

Dean groaned, hiding his face in the crook of Cas’s neck. “So early,” he mumbled and Cas chuckled, running his hand through his hair.

“Not used to the mornings?”

Dean shook his head. “Opposite,” he told him, mouthing at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “All week we were up at like five in the morning.” He nipped at his throat and Cas laughed as Dean sat up. “It was hell.”

“Being a rock star sounds hard,” he said sarcastically and Dean rolled his eyes as he reached over the side of the bed to grab his jeans.

“I need caffeine.” He stood and Cas watched with admiration as he pulled his pants on, the hem resting just over his hips.

“There’s a café half a block north of here,” Cas told him, moving to sit up.

“Shirt?” He gestured at the closet and Cas nodded.

“Top shelf.”

Dean stepped over to the closet and rummaged for a moment before pulling out one of the vintage t-shirts from the shelf and pulling it over his head.

“How’d I know you’d pick that one?” Cas laughed and Dean grinned as he looked down at the Metallica t-shirt pulled tightly over his well-toned chest.

“Master of Puppets, man,” he said defiantly, gesturing to the design and Cas shook his head.

“You gonna go get coffee?” he asked, standing and wrapping the sheet around his waist before stepping over to the dresser.

Dean nodded, his eyes following him unabashedly and Cas felt as he stepped up behind him, his fingers running down the length of his exposed back. “How do you want it?” he asked and the hoarsely worded innuendo sent a shiver through him as he looked at Dean in the mirror.

He was smiling. He knew exactly what he did to him. He could see it in the satisfaction on his face.

“Just tell them it’s for me. They see me more than they probably want to.” He tore his eyes away to attend to the task of gathering his clothes, knowing that if he didn’t, they’d never get around to coffee.

Dean chucked. “You got it.”

He made his way out of the apartment and Cas used the time alone to jump in the shower. He smelled like Bobby’s, vodka and sex and as appealing as the combination had been the night before, smelling it a day later was not something he wanted to do.

Standing under the hot spray of his shower, he closed his eyes and sighed. He still couldn’t wrap his head around any of the last 24 hours, but he’d already made a choice. Dean was leaving in five days and would be gone for four months. There was no guarantee after he left to go back to L.A. that he would ever see him again. So, he wouldn’t worry about the consequences just yet. Instead, he’d just enjoy his time with him.

He stepped out of the steam-filled bathroom a few minutes later to find Dean lounging on the bed, sipping his coffee as he scrolled through his phone.

“Aw,” he whined as he looked up from his phone. “Why’d you get dressed?”

“Ass,” Cas laughed as he stepped over to the nightstand and picked up the coffee waiting for him.

Dean set his phone down beside him and grabbed Cas’s hand, guiding him to climb into his lap. Cas held on to his coffee, carefully putting a leg over Dean’s lap and resting back on his thighs.

“Thank you,” he told him, gesturing to his coffee before taking a careful sip.

“You’re welcome.” Dean set his cup on the nightstand before letting his hands settle on Cas’s legs, fingers tapping a rhythm on his jeans as he let his head fall back onto the pillow behind him. “It’s quiet here,” he noted thoughtfully.

“That’s why I chose this place. Most people walk to the shops down the street, but hardly anyone comes down to this end. And it’s far enough away from the base and airport that it isn’t much of an issue. Most of the time.”

“I like it. Our building is in the middle of the city. The noise… All day and night. It’s grating. It’s so… peaceful here.” He sounded genuinely relieved and an idea suddenly occurred to Cas.

_Ah, what the hell._

“You could stay, ya know,” he said and Dean’s head snapped up. “For a few days, I mean. Before you leave – if you want to.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “Yeah? But don’t you have work stuff?”

Cas shrugged, ignoring the tiny panic quickening his pulse. “I work from here. And I’m the boss, so…”

Dean’s face was thoughtful for a moment before a slow smile formed on his lips and he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

Cas took a sip of his coffee to hide his relieved smile. He licked his lips and watched as Dean’s eyes tracked the motion, darkening slightly at the sight. Dean took his coffee and set it on the nightstand before grabbing the hem of his shirt and Cas lifted his arms to let him pull it from his body.

“If you’re going to be staying a while, we’ll probably need to pace ourselves,” he said jokingly as Dean pulled him down to him.

Dean kissed him, his tongue sweet from his coffee and grinned against his lips. “Where’s the fun in that?”

 

** 

 

The day passed in a blur of sex and laughter and Dean couldn’t remember the last time he felt so relaxed. Cas was a force of nature, a startlingly genuine personality and he couldn’t help but feel at ease with him.

Their love-making was playful and intense but it was the moments in between that got to him the most. When they laid there and talked about music and life and laughing about random shit. He was down-to-earth and honest, no pretention or air about him. Just Cas. And the way he talked about music was almost like poetry, hypnotic and raw and earnest. He was fascinating to listen to.

“So, what did you think about our stuff the first time you heard it?” he asked curiously, resting his head in his hand as he laid beside him and Cas sighed thoughtfully.

“Do you want the long or the short version?” he laughed, turning his head to look at him as he rested on his back, the sheet draped over his waist.

“Whichever.”

“Well, the first I heard you guys was that single from _No Holds_ and to be honest, I wasn’t that impressed,” he admitted hesitantly and Dean groaned. “I’m sorry. But you guys had no idea what you were doing with that first album.”

“I know. It was so bad,” Dean chuckled as Cas turned his head to stare up at the ceiling.

“But then I heard “60 Seconds at a Time” and I was… just floored. It was so beautiful. And honest. And I could relate to it so much, that feeling of being alone while surrounded by so many people. Taking each day a minute at a time until you had another day down…” Cas swallowed and looked at him again and Dean could see in his eyes that his memory of it was painful. “My parents left shortly before _Fracture_ came out and it was just… That album got me through a lot of hard days. And as strange as it may sound, listening to the loneliness I heard in that song helped me feel less alone. Like there was someone out there that understood.”

He stared at him a long moment and Dean licked his lip absently, forcing his own memories of that album out of his mind. He didn’t want to dwell on that, not now. “I’m glad it helped,” he told him honestly and Cas offered him a warm smile.

“You have a real gift, Dean.”

He shook his head, the corner of his mouth pulling straight. “Thanks, but -”

“But nothing. I’ve never heard anyone express emotion with a guitar the way you do. It’s not just music that you play. It’s…” Cas sighed, looking back up at the ceiling again. “People have always told me that I am too intense when it comes to music. That I believe too much of what only I read into it, but whenever I listen to you play… it’s like my heart sings along because it already knows the song.”

Dean stared at him, his mouth falling open slightly. If it had been anyone else, he would’ve scoffed at the statement, but coming from Cas, knowing how he truly felt about all of the music he’d listened to and wrote about, he believed him.

He struggled to think of what to say. He wanted to thank him, to tell him how special it was to hear him say that, something. But all he could do was look at him, the way his dark hair spilled over his forehead, his hand over his heart as if he were trying to protect it as he spoke.

“I don’t think you’re too intense,” he finally said and Cas smiled again.

“Good,” he told him, turning his head to look at him and he couldn’t help but smile back at him, those crystal eyes of his shining happily as they stared at him. “You getting hungry yet?”

Dean didn’t need to be asked twice. They’d worked up quite an appetite since their meal at the resort the night before and some kind of sustenance would be required if he was going to be able to keep up with him for the rest of the day.

He took a quick shower while Cas got dressed and checked his email and soon, they were hoofing it to the long line of shops at the end of his block.

“I should probably pick up a couple of things,” Dean told him as they made their way down the street, squinting at the sun glaring at them from its low place in the sky. “And sunglasses.”

Cas pointed to a storefront ahead of them. “They probably have some stuff. At least the necessities.”

“Food first?”

“Oh, god, yes. Please,” he groaned, hugging his stomach dramatically and Dean laughed, motioning toward the Italian bistro a couple of shops away.

They ordered pizza and wine at the small place, choosing to sit out on the patio to enjoy the remnants of the sunshine. They’d been there about twenty minutes and Dean was in the middle of taking a bite of his third slice when he heard his name.

He straightened as a blonde girl, about eighteen or nineteen, stopped in front of their table, her face hopeful. “Dean Winchester?” she asked and he nodded as he chewed his pizza, swallowing it before offering her a hello. “I’m so sorry to bother you,” she told him, barely acknowledging Cas, who was sitting back to watch the exchange as he sipped his wine.

“No, it’s fine. What’s up?” he asked, setting his pizza down and wiping his hands on his napkin.

“I was wondering if I could have your autograph?” The girl held out a pen and a piece of paper and he nodded, taking it from her. Usually they asked for a picture, but he was grateful, considering.

He signed the paper quickly, handing it back to her with a smile. “There you go.”

The girl let out an excited squeal and Dean heard Cas cough, clearly trying not to laugh.

“Thank you so much!” the girl exclaimed before turning and running back to a small group of people watching them from the street.

“Sorry about that,” he said, turning back to Cas. He was used to people recognizing him but for some reason, with Cas there it felt different. It felt intrusive.

“Can’t help it you’re so popular,” Cas teased, taking another sip of his wine before gesturing at the group. “They’re still watching you, you know.”

Dean groaned. “Yeah, I know.” He _loved_ his fans. He really did. But he just wanted this time, this short time he had, to be with Cas and _just_ Cas. He felt horrible for it but he really wanted them to go away and leave him alone.

He grabbed his slice and took another bite, forcibly ignoring the group behind him.

“You okay?” Cas asked and Dean wondered how the hell he got so perceptive.

“Yeah,” he said, finishing his bite. “Just… I only get so much time to just… ya know -”

“Be you?” he asked and Dean nodded.

“Very aptly put. Yeah.” He tossed the crust of his slice onto the pan.

He watched as Cas took the last large sip of his wine. His cheeks had taken on a pink flush from the alcohol, the setting sun igniting his eyes in a wild, blue flame. He caught Dean staring and cocked his head at him curiously, his smile warm and pacifying the anxiousness burrowing into his bones. He was just so goddamn beautiful.

“You wanna go shopping now?” Cas asked easily and Dean found that saying yes to him was something that he very much enjoyed.

He nodded, finishing his glass of wine in one large swallow and standing. He offered his hand to Cas and he took it with a shy smile, steadying himself before letting Dean lead the way to the exit gate.

Dean could still feel the eyes of the small group on them as they crossed the street and made their way to the small department store.


End file.
